


The Frozen Shell of Csilla

by Kurenaino



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Thrawn Series - Timothy Zahn (2017)
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Culture, Asexual Character, Awkward Flirting, Chiss Politics, Dom/sub Undertones, Dorks in Love, F/M, Family Issues, First Kiss, Loss of Virginity, Stop Telling Me What To Do DAD, Thrass Can't Even, Thrawn is Oblivious, Thrawn's Bitch Space Wife, Xenophilia, Ziara is a Queen and she Knows It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:54:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 40,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26653990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kurenaino/pseuds/Kurenaino
Summary: Born blood of the Irizi, Irizi'ar'alani is expected to do her part in keeping the family line strong, and she wants nothing to do with it. When her friendship with the politically disastrous Mitth'raw'nuru inexplicably becomes something more, she seizes the opportunity to show her family exactly what she thinks of their expectations.
Relationships: Ar'alani/Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo
Comments: 35
Kudos: 69





	1. Blood of the Irizi

**Author's Note:**

> Well, hello there. I know what you're thinking. Kurenaino, you TERRIBLE AUTHOR. What are you doing, starting a new fic when you should be working on finishing Flames?!
> 
> Uh. I wanted to write this. That's all. I just wanted to.
> 
> I mean, did you guys READ Chaos Rising? My new current favorite Star Wars book? It's just, so great, for so many reasons. I mean, since Treason, I have been of the opinion that Ar'alani is for sure Thrawn's Bitch Space Wife, but then this book happened, and, like, nobody prepared me for how gash dang cute these two would be. I just. I can't guys. I CAN'T. So this had to be written, because I love me some blue idiots.
> 
> Let me explain something real fast. I have Ideas about the Chiss, both in terms of their social customs and their biology, and I'll be getting deep into them in the next few chapters. As for now, see all those tags? See that rating? It ain't in this chapter. But it will be, I swear it.
> 
> That's it. Enjoy, kids. I had a blast writing this.

Irizi'ar'alani had barely stepped through the front door of the massive mansion of the Irizi homestead before a low, almost bored voice said, "We found a match for you, Ziara." With a heavy sigh, Ziara shut her eyes tight, pinched the bridge of her nose, and dropped her duffel bag to the ground. So like her family to begin the politics before she had even closed the door behind her.

"Hello to you too, Father..." Ziara ground out, glaring at the man in an armchair in the spacious livingroom until his eyes lazily looked up from his questis to examine the frustrated young woman, and without saying a word, turned his attention back to his reading material.

Already, Ziara was beginning to regret coming home for Taharim Academy's sabbatical, even though most of her friends had left as well to return home, one of the few chances they would have to see their families before their schedules became erratic and uncertain with their impending military deployments. It was dangerous work, and it went unspoken among cadets that as members of the Expansionary Defense Fleet, there was always the possibility that they would not return home, so when the yearly sabbatical came around, the students took the opportunity while they could.

There were exceptions, of course, the few who chose to stay behind at the Academy, one very notable exception coming to mind, and at the moment, Ziara had wished she had stayed behind with him.

"The match," her father continued in a quiet drawl, "is with another blood of the Irizi. Irizi'ka'norah is in training with Irizi'stal'mustro to serve in the Syndicure. It is the best match we could have possibly hoped for."

Ziara wrinkled her nose. "I don't want to be matched with blood, Father," she said as patiently as she was able as she snatched her duffle bag off the ground and slung it over her shoulder. "What does it even matter anyway? When I become a Commodore, I won't even be Irizi."

"All the more reason to match you now," he said firmly. "Before that happens, so that you may retain your family ties through your match." He set his questis down and wrinkled his nose, a thing Ziara noted with displeasure that she was, at that moment, mirroring. A stubborn streak ran through the Irizi, and she was family blood and reputedly a very great deal like her father.

"I don't want to be matched with blood," she said again, slowly, this time, as though she were speaking to a child. "If I must be matched, pair me with a merit adoptive, or a trial born, or a ranking distant, if the others offend you."

"They all offend me," her father said stiffly. "You are blood of the Irizi, Ziara. Nothing less than blood is worthy of you."

"Isn't that exactly why we adopt, Father?" Ziara said coldly. "We bring in the exceptional to strengthen the family. If I must be matched, why not elevate some exceptional adoptive that has proved themselves worthy? Or," she said, a wry smirk twisting her lips, "I could just _not_ be matched, and the family could permit me to choose my own."

"Absurd," her father scoffed, his nose once again wrinkling in distaste. "You are willful, Ziara. Should you find it upon yourself to take a liking to the wrong person, from the wrong family..." He scoffed again, and Ziara could feel her gut twisting into an uncomfortable knot. "You could very well embroil the family in yet _another_ scandal..."

So _that's_ what this was about.

Ziara groaned loudly and rolled her eyes, stalking over to an empty armchair across from her father, where she once again dropped her bag to the ground and threw herself into the chair, an accusing finger pointed at the mildly bemused man.

"Now see here, Father," she said in a low, commanding voice, the frown upon her face growing deeper when her authority didn't quite strike her father the way it did the junior cadets at the Academy. "That was _months_ ago, and as I recall, the accusation that created that particular scandal was outright dismissed as a hasty conclusion by ranking officers that couldn't differentiate between cheating and brilliance when it was staring them in the face!"

"And you in the middle of it," her father huffed. "Leave it to some lowborn Mitth adoptive to drag my daughter's name through the dirt on his way to ruin."

"It was _dismissed_!" Ziara said, exasperation in her voice as she leaned back against the chair, weariness settling heavy upon her shoulders. In addition to the tiresome mire of family politics she was none too happy to once again be in the middle of, it had been a long trip from Naporar, and now off her feet, she was beginning to feel it.

"This time," her father grumbled as he once again picked up his questis and returned to his reading. "Give it enough time, and I'm certain Cadet Mitth'raw'nuru will see himself tangled in another scandal."

"Not if someone helps pave his way..." she muttered under her breath, too quiet to be heard, she thought, until she looked up and saw her father's red eyes peering up at her over his questis, narrowed with suspicion and glowing bright with offense.

"You haven't continued to see this boy," her father said coldly, a statement, not a question, and Ziara could feel herself bristle, stubborn defiance gripping her and refusing to let go as finally, she could feel something truly get underneath her implacable father's skin.

"As a matter of fact," she said slowly, lightly, a defiant smirk tugging at the edge of her lips. "I have."

A sharp hiss was exhaled from between thee man's teeth, his eyes narrowing as he appraised his daughter with a withering glare that did nothing to curb the defiant spark that glowed in her eyes. "There is," he said slowly, "a bitter rivalry between the Mitth and the Irizi. You know this, Ziara. Since we took to the stars, the Irizi have a long and proud tradition of providing our military with exceptional warriors, as you will be one day." He flicked his hand in a dismissive, angry gesture. "The Mitth would steal that glory out from under us. They seek to cut into what has been our dominion for generations, and no daughter of mine will aid the Mitth effort by helping one of theirs excel at Taharim!"

"You said yourself, Father," Ziara ground out bitterly. "Before long, he'll find himself in another scandal."

"One you will help see him through, I presume."

"If the scandal is without merit like the last one, than yes!" Ziara snapped, standing up from the chair and once again snatching her duffle bag up from the floor. "Brilliance should be rewarded, not dragged before a disciplinary panel because fools can't understand!"

"Oh, the Mitth is brilliant now, is he?" her father scoffed, and Ziara met his eyes with an unflinching, steely gaze.

"His family is irrelevant," she said evenly, catching hold of her emotions and bringing them back under her control at the sight of the silent fury burning in her father's eyes. "Is our first duty not to the Ascendancy?" she asked sweetly, the sly smirk on her face growing as she watched the lines on the man's face harden. He saw where she was going, and he was none too pleased.

"Of course it is," he said reluctantly, and Ziara stood up taller, looking as regal as her Irizi upbringing had taught her to be.

"Standing idly by and watching as a _brilliant_ tactician and strategist is expelled from Taharim because he cannot navigate a political situation would be a loss the Defense Fleet and the Ascendancy could not afford." She flashed the glowering man a smile. "I simply could not allow the Ascendancy to be weakened in this way."

"You're on the wrong career track, Ziara..." the man grumbled, dropping his questis on to his lap and folding his hands over his chest. "You should have been a Syndic."

"I think not, Father," she said, walking over to the man and kissing him on the forehead. "There's too much family politics for my taste. I prefer to fight against a more straightforward opponent."

"By the side of a Mitth?" he asked, an eyebrow arching, and Ziara gave a dismissive wave of her hand.

"By anyone's side, so long as they are worthy of their position."

The man gave a soft grunt and the slightest, imperceptible nod as he picked up his questis and once again returned to his reading. "It is good to have you home, Ziara."

"We'll see if you're still saying so before the day is out," Ziara drawled as she walked toward the large, spiraling staircase out in the main hall. "And Father, if you don't politely decline this match, I will very impolitely decline it at my earliest possible convenience."

Soft, hissed curses followed Ziara out of the living room, and she couldn't help the grin that spread across her face. For all the irritation that came with it, it was good to be home.

* * *

Ziara has just gotten her things unpacked when her communicator chimed, and taking it off her hip and reading the ID, she groaned in irritation, rolled her eyes, and threw herself on the bed, the faintest smile upon her lips as she answered the call.

"What is the proper procedure for addressing a tactical and strategic oversight in a specific lesson?" the even, almost emotionless voice said over her communicator, and the slight smile on Ziara's face turned into an irritated frown.

"Hello, Ziara!" Ziara said in a tight voice filled with false cheerfulness. "How was your trip? Are you home safely?" She paused, listening to the silence on the other end, and felt a wry smirk touch her lips at the thought of the ridged brow on the other end drawing together in confusion. " _That_ , Thrawn, is how you greet a friend on the com!" For a minute, there was silence, long enough that Ziara had to check to make certain that she hadn't become disconnected.

"I...apologize," came the stuttering, awkward response. "I was unaware that I was permitted to speak to you in such a way."

"Are you kidding me?!" Ziara snapped, sitting up on the bed and glaring at her communicators as if the little device had been the one to offend her. "We're _friends_ , Thrawn! You have my personal com number! Informality goes without saying!"

"...but you're a senior cadet," Thrawn muttered. "You have distinguished yourself with honors and your academic record is worthy of respect. I thought-"

"You thought," Ziara swiftly interrupted, "that after all the time we've spent together since you asked me out on that date that we _aren't_ friends?" Again, another long pause, and Ziara could almost feel the dark blue flush coming to the young cadet's cheeks, as it always did every time she brought their trip to the art gallery up. Which she did with some frequency. Teasing young, awkward Thrawn had quickly become one of her favorite past times, partly because half the time, he would miss her meaning entirely, and the other half, he would react as he was reacting now: flustered and insecure in a way that the confident cadet never was when dealing with his military studies.

"...it was not a date," Thrawn muttered quietly, and the grin on Ziara's face widened. "I only wished to express my thanks and appreciation for what you had done to aid me by...I-I have explained this before..."

"Oh? Have you?"

"...yes. I have. You know I have."

"Not a day goes by when I'm not answering your questions, or threatening your classmates with downmarks if they don't watch their tongues, or getting thrown around by you in the dojo." She scoffed as she flopped back in the bed, her head sinking into the pillow as she shut her eyes. "Yes, Thrawn. We are friends. We had better be for all you put me through."

"...I did not wish to presume such a thing," Thrawn said quietly. "You are my senior. I did not know if it is acceptable."

"I don't care if it's acceptable or not," Ziara said, and on the other end, she thought she could hear a soft, relieved sigh.

"...I am honored," Thrawn said, and much to Ziara's surprise, the call ended, a dull tone indicating that the other party had left. With a frustrated huff, she turned over, grabbed hold of her pillow tightly, and glared at her communicator when it softly chimed once again. She didn't check the identification this time as she answered it.

"Hello, Ziara," Thrawn said, the quiet uncertainty gone from his voice and replaced with the calm confidence she knew so very well. "How was your trip? Have you arrived home safely?"

"The trip was uneventful, and save for some irritation caused by my father, yes, I'm home safely," Ziara said, a small smile coming to her lips. "And yourself? It must be quiet there. Do you regret not going home for the sabbatical?"

"Taharim is my home, Ziara," Thrawn said quietly. "Where else should I go?" Ziara winced, a sudden stab of guilt in her gut. Unlike her other friends, Thrawn was of the Nine Ruling Families, and while it was a great honor to be a merit adoptive as he was, she hadn't forgotten that when he had needed his family's support, the Mitth hadn't arrived, leaving her to decide that if they wouldn't stand for him, she would.

"Perhaps you could visit the Mitth homestead," she offered. "You haven't been, have you?"

"I have not," Thrawn said quietly. "Nor do I know who I must speak to in order to arrange such a visit. But I would rather stay here," he put in quickly when Ziara began to explain exactly how it was done. "I enjoy the quiet, and it has given me an opportunity to get ahead in my studies."

"Aren't you already ahead?" Ziara said flatly, and again, there was a long moment of silence on Thrawn's end.

"...more ahead," he quietly amended. "You said your father was giving you trouble?" Ziara groaned loudly, burying her face into her pillow and breathing deeply, her thoughts swarming as she attempted to bring order to them and the rising irritation that she had forgotten about when Thrawn called.

"Family politics," she finally decided upon with a heavy sigh as she once again looked at the communicator on the pillow beside her head. "Father's trying to match me. It isn't going well."

"Why?" Thrawn asked innocently. "Do they find you disagreeable?"

"Do _you_ find me disagreeable?" she snapped.

"Not at all," Thrawn muttered. "I did not mean to imply otherwise."

"I know you didn't..." Ziara sighed, her fingers lightly tracing circles upon her bed sheets. "Father has found me a match he insists is ideal, but I rejected it."

"Was he not to your liking?"

"I don't know," Ziara said in a clipped, dismissive voice. "I didn't examine the proposal documentation. And before you say anything about needing as much information as possible to make a proper strategic decision," she said swiftly in her most commanding tone, "he is another blood of the Irizi, and I have been very clear about not wanting to be matched with blood."

"...I was not going to suggest you obtain more information," Thrawn said slowly, carefully, even, Ziara thought. "I was going to say that your instincts are usually correct."

"Not always," Ziara scoffed, but she could feel her face warming, a thing she immediately tried to shake away. She didn't think compliments from quiet, studious Thrawn were rare, but they were always genuine, never meant to flatter, never delivered to console. They were facts, observations, free of ulterior motivations or politics or social game playing, and that made it mean more.

Though why it now brought heat to her face, she couldn't say.

"Is it common for matches to be made between blood?" Thrawn asked, and Ziara quickly shook her wandering thoughts away.

"It does happen," she mused. "Especially in situations where it seems likely that one of the parties will give up their family name for the Defense Fleet."

"As you will."

"That isn't certain."

"Not certain," Thrawn conceded. "But likely, barring any unforeseen circumstances."

"Like you dragging me through another scandal?" Ziara asked coyly.

"Among other things," Thrawn said quickly, and Ziara huffed, her eyes narrowed as she stared at the com. That one went right over Thrawn's head, or else he had already accepted more controversy as a part of his future. "So your family seeks to keep you connected to the Irizi, even after you achieve flag rank? Can they not achieve the same thing by matching you to a cousin, or a ranking distant?"

"They could, but my father has decided that anything less than blood is unworthy of me," she said with a roll of her eyes. "You'll see one day when the Mitth try to match you."

"Ah..." Thrawn said quietly, a little sheepishly, Ziara thought, and she propped herself up to look at the com. "I do not believe the Mitth will be making any serious efforts to do so. I do not exactly have..." He paused, and Ziara closed her eyes, could see the contemplative frown upon his lips and the way the ridges on his forehead drew together when he was concentrating. "I somehow doubt that they are overly eager to make matches for merit adoptives who have been involved scandal."

"It was dismissed, Thrawn."

"This time..." he said quietly. "I doubt the Mitth representative will be any more eager to arrive to support me during a second offense when they did not arrive for the first."

"It was dismissed!"

"It would not have been, if not for you," Thrawn said, and again, Ziara could feel the heat rise to her cheeks again, and swiftly shook the feeling away.

"You can thank me by not getting involved in another scandal, then," she admonished. "Who will be there to protect you after I graduate, hm?"

"Perhaps by then, I will have so many dismissed accusations in my record that they will no longer bother sending me to disciplinary panels."

"I will consider it a personal favor if you didn't make that your goal, Mitth'raw'nuru," Ziara scolded, thought she couldn't keep the laughter out of her voice. "Speaking of which, is that what you called for?" she asked, frowning as she thought back to the beginning of their conversation.

"No," Thrawn said quickly. "The matter is not pressing. It can wait until your return next week. It is a...hypothetical." He paused, a little too long for Ziara's taste. "For the next time I bring errors in tactical lessons to the professor's attention."

"Oh, Thrawn, you _didn't_!" Ziara groaned, once again putting her face against the pillows.

"The lesson's premise was flawed, Ziara," Thrawn said in his usual, infuriating calm confidence and she wished, for once, that Thrawn could be sensible instead of right all the damn time. "It detailed the attack pattern of the-"

"And I _suppose_ that this particular species' artwork didn't support the attack pattern?" Ziara asked, rolling over and shutting her eyes tight as she brushed her fingers along the ridges on her forehead.

"No," Thrawn said gravely. "It did not."

"Classes aren't even in session, Thrawn!" she growled as she sat up, the communicator clenched tightly in her hand.

"I have already said I was working to get ahead in my studies," he muttered. "I was reviewing the curriculum when I noticed the discrepancy, and thought I would bring it to the professor's attention before classes started so that the error might be corrected."

"For the love of...who's the professor?"

"Ras'kleoni."

"I had her for tactics as well," Ziara said as she winced. "I can't see her taking that well."

"She did not..." Thrawn said grimly. "She gave me thirty downmarks for belligerence and suggested I review the proper procedure for addressing a professor with questions regarding the lessons." He paused, and Ziara could only stare at the communicator, jaw slack and at a loss for words. "...I did not have any questions. At least, not until I was made aware of the procedure regarding this matter. Hence, the call to you."

"There is no proper procedure, Thrawn..." Ziara sighed. "She was being glib. The procedure she was talking about, by the way, was social niceties and a modicum of tact, neither of which you possess." Again, there was a long moment of silence. He wasn't offended, she knew. Thrawn didn't take offense to facts, no matter how harshly they were presented. Another thing she found refreshing about the younger cadet. He was entirely uncomplicated.

"...it was not my intention to offend her," Thrawn finally said. "I thought it best to have the most accurate information built into the lesson before classes resume."

"Every day, I give thanks I am three years your senior," Ziara said as she rolled her eyes and swung her legs over the side of the bed. "I bet every class you're in is a new kind of pain for everyone involved."

"Really?" Thrawn asked, the slightest hint of surprise in his voice, and Ziara couldn't help but groan. Again, another case of socially oblivious Thrawn taking her obvious teasing seriously. "I find my classes to be both enjoyable and instructive."

"Yes, I'm sure you do..." she grumbled, standing as her feet touched the floor and stretching for a moment before she returned her full attention to the com in her hand. "Listen. Take a few days of solitude to study or train or do whatever it is you do, than seek out Professor Ras'kleoni and apologize." She pointed a stern finger at the com, a thing she would have done had the junior cadet been standing right in front of her. " _Don't_ explain yourself. Just apologize. She's not going to understand your art thing. Nobody does."

"You do."

"I don't understand it, I accept it," Ziara swiftly corrected. "Most will not. Especially not instructors who react to clever students by deciding they are belligerent."

"Yes..." Thrawn said thoughtfully. "I understand. Thank you for the advice, Ziara. It is a sound course of action, and I will follow your directions exactly."

"I know you will," she said, placing the com on her table and digging through her duffle bag for a change of clothes. "I will be back at Taharim in ten days. Do try to stay out of any further trouble for the remainder of my absence."

"I do not deliberately go seeking trouble, as you seem to suggest."

"Perhaps not, but you're often too curious for your own good." She paused, a frown on her lips as she debated if she should say the words that sat right on the tip of her tongue, and with a shrug, decided for it. "You have my number, Thrawn. Feel free to call if you need anything."

"I shall," Thrawn said softly. "Thank you, Ziara. Best of luck with your family."

"I'm likely to need it," she grumbled, wincing slightly as she thought of all the potential headache that awaited her return into the heart of Irizi family politics. Switching off the communicator, she quietly unpacked her things and prepared for the rest of the day ahead of her.

* * *

It was two days before Ziara needed the luck that Thrawn had wished her. Two whole days of peace and ease, of seeing family she hadn't seen in years, just long enough for her to relax and think that maybe - _just maybe_ \- the political mess surrounding her future match that she walked into the moment she stepped through the door was the end of it. She had been firm, clear in her reluctance and her immediate, unquestioning rejection of the current proposal that she thought she may have possibly forced her father to begin again from scratch, a lengthy process that would likely yield no results for at least a year.

But here she was, two days later, staring into a room filled with blood family and cousins and ranking distants, entire branches of the family, all in the formal robes of the Aristocra or military dress uniform. Dinner with the family, her mother had said, failing to mention a social gathering of this size and formality at all. It wasn't unusual, of course, for the homestead to host parties like this with some frequency, but usually she would have heard of such an event from _someone_ , which was the first of many things that gave her pause and kept her on the outside of the room as she quietly scanned the crowd.

The second thing was truthfully the only thing she needed to turn that caution into suspicious indignation, a knot twisting in her stomach and her eyes narrowing as she keyed on to one face among the large gathering, and immediately, she knew the game that was being played. There, standing within one of the several conversation circles that the room had broken into, was Irizi'ka'norah, the supposed _perfect match_ her father had found for her that she had been swift to reject. Slowly looking over the rest of the party, carefully scanning every face and matching them with names when she could, she quickly realized that there were a disproportionate number of young men, at least one for each family branch in attendance.

Ziara was going to murder her father.

Catching her father's eye from across the room, a wide, wicked grin spread across Ziara's face, and without so much as even looking at the men that attempted to politely greet her as she stalked across the room, she grabbed a glass of liquor from a table and had finished it before she had reached her father's side.

"Good evening, Father," Ziara said in a far too cheerful tone that immediately put a suspicious frown on her father's face. "It was so good of you to let me know we were hosting a social event."

"Did no one tell you, Ziara?" her father said almost flippantly, but his casual demeanor was quickly lost when his furious daughter jabbed an accusing finger against his chest.

"Don't you _dare_ try and pull that on me!" Ziara said in a low, dangerous hiss. "I am blood of the Irizi, I was brought up learning to spot manipulation tactics!" She paused, glaring at the man and drawing up to her full height, which put her nearly eye to eye with her father. "You couldn't even give me the courtesy of being subtle about it?!"

"You yourself said you desired a more direct approach," her father said stiffly. "You expressed a desire to choose your own match. Well, Ziara," he said, gesturing toward the crowd. "Choose."

"...n-now?" Ziara stammered, wincing when she heard how small she sounded, which only seemed to bolster her father's confidence as he drew up and glanced down his nose at her.

"Now," he said firmly. "I have gathered all the matches that I have deemed worthy and appropriate, and you may have your choice. But you will choose tonight."

"And if I don't choose..." she growled stubbornly, and her father gave her a dismissive wave.

"Then you will make me a list of those you find acceptable, and I will choose from them," he said without hesitation. "You are smart, Ziara," he said, laying his hand upon her shoulder. "And driven and committed, everything that makes the Ascendancy as powerful as it is. We must strengthen the Chiss by producing exceptional children, and you, my daughter, will produce the best the Ascendancy could hope for."

"My deeds will make the Ascendancy strong!" she snapped, but her father merely laughed, her anger rolling off him as if it were nothing.

"They will," he agreed. "And in time, so will your children."

"Ziara!" a sharp voice said from behind her, and she swiftly spun around to find herself looking upon her mother's disapproving face, the woman quickly putting her hand to her daughter's face and dragging her fingers through her long hair. "You come to an event of this magnitude looking like _this_?" she admonished. "Are you trying to make yourself appear to be lowborn? You look like you just came in from outside!"

"I _did_ just come in from outside!" Ziara said between clenched teeth as she snatched her hair away from her mother's grasp. "Nobody told me we were having a social event, _Mother_!"

"I told you this morning," she said firmly, her eyes narrowing as she closely examined the bright sun flush to her skin, the grass stains on her clothes, the scrapes and cuts upon her arms. "Dinner with the family, Ziara, is a _social event_."

"But _this_ -"

"No," her mother cut in, putting her hand upon Ziara's shoulder and steering her toward the back door. "You will wash up, put on something presentable, and act like your noble birth when you return." There was no sense arguing with her mother, and with a huff and a small nod of acknowledgment, she turned and dragged her feet toward the winding staircase that led up to her living quarters. "And do something about all that hair, will you!" her mother's voice followed her out into the hall, and cursing under her breath, Ziara trudged up the stairs, pulling her hair over her shoulder and running her fingers through it.

She ran on autopilot as she stripped her clothes and stepped into the shower, her thoughts so slow they barely moved, her eyes fixed at her bare feet as the water ran over her neck and shoulders, watching as soap and shampoo ran down her legs and slowly trickled down the drain. She felt stupid for being blind sided like this. She should have anticipated this, given the hard line she had drawn with her father. She could play the political game, she had been raised to do so, but she had been out of it for a while, and her father was a Syndic, which made him a master of politics and social manipulation, as he was doing right now. She needed a strategy, some tactic that would somehow turn this to her advantage, or at the very least, allow her to escape the trap that had been set...

 _What would Thrawn do_...

The thought was a stray one, but it made her laugh nonetheless, and with a sigh, she leaned back against the wall, sighing at the feel of the cold stone between her shoulders. Even now, in the early stages of his military education, Ziara had never known a better strategist and tactician than Thrawn, and while Thrawn himself had once told her she had an eminently tactical mind, she knew very well that she was far behind the intricate brilliance of her Mitth friend. He had no head for politics or social games of any sort, but where combat was concerned, he was peerless.

And her father did just declare war on her.

It seemed likely that under the circumstances, Thrawn would suggest a tactical retreat in order to assess the situation, review the information, and devise a strategy, but Ziara already understood exactly what was happening here. She had blundered into a trap, and retreat wasn't an option. She frowned, stepped under the spray of water once more before shutting it off and stepping out to dry herself. Without the possibility to retreat, all that was left to do was play her father's game, have a look at these men, gather what information she could and come up with a plan as she went. It was political warfare, at the heart of it, but she somehow thought that Thrawn would, in a roundabout way, come to this same conclusion. After all, they had both agreed that there was rarely a trap that couldn't be turned against its creator, and that applied to actual combat just as well as it applied to family politics.

For now, at least, she'd play her father's game.

She dressed quickly, pulling on some formal robes that had been stored away in her closet, and she swiftly braided her hair, flicking it over her shoulder when she was done. Giving herself a quick glance in the mirror, she huffed in approval and left the room, her hurried pace slowing as she eyed the artwork lining the wall of the hall, all pieces acquired by a grandfather who had been an avid art collector. The pieces had decorated the Irizi homestead since before Ziara was born, a childhood spent running past a hundred lush and varied landscapes and portraits and carefully crafted sculptures that she never truly saw until now. Perhaps, in some way, growing up around such a wealth of art is what inspired her own enjoyment of wire sculpting, but she never actively appreciated them until now.

_Thrawn would love it here..._

The thought was fleeting, and Ziara felt stupid for thinking it, but it was true all the same. Their ancestral home was rich in art and history, not just of the Irizi family, but of the Ascendancy and of other species scattered across the Chaos, some of which the Chiss still had contact with, and some which had been lost long ago. It was exactly the sort of collection she knew Thrawn would pour over for days, that excited, bright glow to his eyes she only ever saw when he got hold of a new piece of art. She knew it would never happen, even without their family rivalry to consider, but it would almost have been worth enduring the scandal and her father's blind rage to see Thrawn's face as he wandered the halls of the Irizi homestead.

Perhaps if her father continued to test her patience, she'd do just that.

When she arrived down in the dining hall, the family had already been seated, each branch of the family sharing smaller tables at the side of the room while her parents sat at the long, central table with about thirty young men, the acceptable matches her family had approved of, each and every eye upon her as Ziara entered. Privately seething, she flashed a tight smile to her potential matches and made her way to the table, delicately sat herself between her mother and father and, as hard as she was able, slammed her heel down upon her father's toes, her fake smile sliding into a genuine smirk when she heard the sharp, pained intake of breath to her left.

"Ziara, dear," her mother said as she delicately cut the fish upon her plate. "Irizi'kel'jolva was just telling us about his recent trip to Avidich. Did you know he climbed the highest peak on the planet? An exceptionally dangerous feat, isn't it? You must be terribly brave."

"Nothing is dangerous for the well-prepared," Zikeljo said in a smooth, arrogant tone that immediately made Ziara bristle. "I have been preparing for the occasion with weekly hikes-"

Ziara stopped listening, her food remaining untouched before her as her eyes slowly roved over the bragging man, taking in the cut of his jaw, the shape of his eyes, the lines of the ridges on his forehead, and couldn't help but scoff. He was handsome enough, certainly, but being well-prepared went beyond physical training. Thrawn knew that. Not only would the Mitth cadet have been training his body for the event, but he would have researched _everything_ , read about the history of the cascades, the composition of the soil and stone, the local flora and fauna, he would have studied artwork of the place to get a feel of it. He would have known _everything_ in the event that something went wrong. She sincerely doubted that _Irizi'kel'jolva_ would have survived had a single thing gone wrong.

She broke out of her thoughts when the entire table erupted into laughter, and Ziara couldn't help the irritated huff that slipped past her lips. She was certain nobody had said anything _that_ funny, just social customs dictating the right and proper reactions, another thing Ziara had no patience for anymore, now that she had been well out of family politics for the years she had been at Taharim. Glancing around the table, she found the source of the laughter and her scowl deepened at the sight of a smug, all too familiar face. Irizi'sostr'akar was a cousin and a promising politician who had been attempting to elevate his status through marriage from cousin to blood for years now, and Ziara was none too happy to see the oily aristocra there. He was, however, greatly pleased to see her, and when he found her looking at him, the arrogant smirk grew wider and more confident.

Ziara _hated_ his face, and was eternally grateful that there was a table between them.

"Might I be the first to say it, Ziara," Zisostra drawled in a low, smooth voice, "that you look absolutely stunning this evening."

She could have muttered a socially gracious "Thank you," but instead, Ziara opted for shooting him a withering glare and an absolutely graceless scowl of disdain. She knew that he had noticed, but like any good politician, he didn't seem to care, continuing on with his platitudes as he now commanded the attention of the table, and Ziara once again turned her attention back to her untouched food as the other men around the table each tried to cut in with their own compliments. They may as well have been shouting into the void of the Chaos for all she heard. Meaningless, empty words, said with the hope of personal gain, each of them with obvious ulterior motives, each of them crafting stories and praise as part of the intricate web of social and political game-playing they were mired in. All of it devoid of significance, all of it disingenuous...

 _An eminently tactical mind_ , Thrawn had said of her, in their first meeting. _Her instincts were usually correct_ , he had said just days before. There were others, of course, though none so direct. His compliments were subtle, almost dismissive in the way he said them, clear and honest facts to him, and nothing more, said in the same way that one may point out that Csilla was cold, or that starships flew. Just _facts_ , obvious and therefore pointless or, worse, _insulting_ to continuously draw attention to. And for that, she appreciated him all the more, his words genuine and honest and refreshingly innocent, carrying all the weight and meaning that a room full of politicians could not.

Again, Ziara's gaze rose, the chatter around the table dulling to an irritating buzz in her ear as she once again returned to sizing up her possible matches, and as before, found herself distinctly unimpressed. Irizi'en'affa, drawing himself up to his full height in his seat, not nearly so tall as he believed and very possibly a full head shorter than imposing Thrawn. Irizi'les'trov, broad shoulders and thick muscular arms fancied himself an able combatant, but she knew would swiftly fall before the far more lean, tactical Mitth cadet. Irizi'ust'rafot, a cadet one year her junior at Taharim who had gotten admitted due to his Irizi name and was merely adequate, opposed to merit adoptive Mitth'raw'nuru, who had risen to prominence from nothing on the back of his promise and potential.

Even Irizi'doy'frasti, widely considered to be the most physically appealing of those gathered, had nothing on the striking Mitth, the thin, red markings beneath his eyes making the red glow appear all the more impressive, and Ziara couldn't help but wonder if those red markings stained other parts of his body. Closing her eyes, she imagined his royal blue shoulders splattered with scarlet freckles, like an evening sky scattered with brilliant stars...

No...

Ziara's eyes flew open, her breath caught in her chest and her heart racing as she stared at the center of the table, seeing nothing at all but the swirl and confusion of her thoughts as they parted before sharp and sudden clarity.

 _No_!

She felt like an idiot for not having seen it before, but there it was, as clear as pure, simple truth laid out before her. It was, in short, entirely unacceptable, an absolute social and political disaster that would have seen her thrown from the family if she was anything less than blood, but she didn't care. She had... _feelings_ for Mitth'raw'nuru, and it had taken a room full of entirely inadequate men for her to see it. The question now, of course, was if he felt similarly for her, and of that, she was entirely uncertain, a swirl of doubt twisting her emotions around her until she couldn't make heads or tails of it. Certainly, Thrawn didn't care for family politics, and often times, she was uncertain he even knew such politics existed.

But then...what? Would he care that she was his senior? That once they joined the Defense Fleet as officers, she would have the jump on him and outrank him? Could he have feelings for a superior officer? Could he even _have_ those feelings at all? In the time that she had known Thrawn, she had never known him to express an interest in romantic entanglements at all, the few times he had pointed out another's physicality more a matter of dry intellectual and tactical observation than hopeful appreciation as so many others so often expressed.

Ziara quickly shook the mire from her mind, shoving aside her swelling feelings in favor of the current situation, hard determination in her eyes and a slight, victorious grin touching her lips as she settled back in her chair. Right now, in this moment, what Thrawn felt was irrelevant. There was a tactical advantage laid out neatly before her, the chance to claim victory from the trap that had been laid for her, and she was committed to her course. And her father had never _specifically_ said that she needed to choose from the men currently assembled...

Turning a trap again it's creator indeed. Thrawn would be so proud.

The sudden change in her demeanor didn't go unnoticed, and her father leaned over, his eyes narrowed in suspicion as he examined her face for the cause of her sudden excitement, a thing he knew very well would likely spell a headache for him.

"Are you alright, Ziara?" her father asked quietly, hoping to keep the inquiry quiet, and Ziara's grin widened as she sat up straight in her chair, knowing that he had failed. All the attention was on her, as it had been for much of the evening, and that was no different now, the room quieting as conversation ceased and the clatter of dinner fell silent as forks and knives were laid down. It was a political tactic Ziara knew all too well, partly meant to intimidate, and partly to force the subject into feeling obligated to speak. No doubt this had been a part of her father's plan, but now, with her sudden and unsettling change, it was exactly the thing that he didn't want to happen.

 _Perfect_.

"I'm fine, Father," Ziara said calmly, clearly and loud enough for the entire room to hear her. "I thank you all for coming, and I thank you, Father, for allowing me to choose my own match. I have selected."

"You have!" her father said excitedly, the momentary smile upon his face wiped away when suspicion swiftly once again took over. "You have?"

"I have," Ziara repeated, watching in amusement as the men at her table straightened up in their seats and made quick, discrete adjustments to their hair and clothing, the hush of excited, anticipatory whispers buzzing in the room. She held the gazes of a few of the men around the table, flashed one a flirtatious smile, and with a shrug, she picked her glass off the table. "My future will be with the Expansionary Defense Fleet, so it's only right I choose someone who will walk the same path." She watched with glee as egos deflated and disappointment weighed down the shoulders of most of the men, and with a long sip of the wine in her glass, she set it down and picked up her fork, a sly smile upon her lips.

"I choose Cadet Mitth'raw'nuru."

A pin could be heard dropping in the shocked, scandalized silence that followed, and nodding as she silently congratulated herself, Ziara ignored the slack jaws and the wide eyes of every Irizi in the room as she finally began to eat, the most satisfying and delicious thing she had ever tasted.


	2. Mitth Adoptive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Usually I'd take this space here to tell you to enjoy the chapter. This time I'm going to use it to talk about Thrass.
> 
> I believe it's popular these days to make Thrass the Reasonable Brother, while Thrawn's running off being Criminally Insane. My personal philosophy on that is...yes, but no. My take on Thrass has always painted him as a perfect counter to Thrawn, so while Thrawn's a Military Genius but a Political Moron, Thrass is a dangerous politician and manipulator. Thrawn's Awkward Beyond Belief, Thrass is charismatic and social. Thrawn's measured and rational, Thrass is Off His Meds Insane. For me, I just like them being functional opposites, and so they are.
> 
> I also have Thoughts about Chiss society and biology. It gets touched on here. I don't know why I think the things I do. I guess I'm just awful.
> 
> Next chapter's when the Spiciness Happens. Don't know when it'll be done, but brace yourselves. It's gonna get weird.

It was, in short, a disaster that swept like wildfire through the Irizi family and, before long, had spread through the other Ruling Families despite the best efforts of the Irizi to contain the fallout of this social nightmare. Their syndics and aristocras were scrambling to save what prestige and reputation they could, and were burning through serious political capital to do so, but at the end of the day, the damage had been done, the only silver lining to this absolute mess was that for as much damage control the Irizi were doing, the Mitth were doing the same, though without the benefit of knowing where this madness had come from. It left the rival family grasping at straws, following rumors that had so slightly shifted with each retelling, leaving them half blind in their investigations into which Mitth would _dare_ tangle with an Irizi blood relative.

But in the end, it had come down to an Irizi declaration of intent, which left the Mitth the wounded party in this obvious and shameless attack on their dignity, and they were not shy about voicing their thoughts on this shameless attempt to drag the Mitth down. It was a social scandal of the highest order, the like of which the Syndicure hadn't seen in a long while, one that effortlessly placed all other controversies and missteps on the backburner while the Ruling Families navigated the socially perilous ice drifts.

No true political damage had been done, in the end, but nightdragon's nest had been viciously and unapologeticly kicked, leaving the Irizi syndics to fight tooth and nail against a swarm of outraged and offended Mitth and those from other families shrewd enough to attempt to benefit from yet another clash between the most bitter rivals in the Ascendancy.

Ziara was loving every second of it.

It was, perhaps, childish to take such delight in the results of her vindictive streak, but she couldn't bring herself to feel guilty over it. It was her father, after all, who had been the one to declare war against her, launched a preemptive strike against her, no less, and Ziara, as any good Chiss would do, responded to this vicious attack against her with immediate and overwhelming force, a deterrent against future attacks. After all, if the bitterness of defeat was not severe enough, an opponent may regroup and attempt a retaliatory strike, should they not believe their intended prey's strength was enough, or their will too weak to bring about total destruction.

From the way that her father was avoiding her, Ziara didn't believe that to be a possibility.

Part of that, perhaps, had entirely to do with Ziara spending the better part of the five days after the party outside, exploring the large, climate controlled cavern where the homestead was hidden. It was beautiful there, a slice of vibrant life deep beneath Csilla's frozen surface so large that if she hadn't known better, she would have believed their ancestral lands to be upon the surface of a pastoral planet, rolling hills and wide lakes and distant mountains all laying beneath a blue sky and the light of a bright sun. In the liberating wake of her defiance, Ziara decided that she would like nothing more than to spend her time running through the soft grass of landscaped lawns, hiking through the mountain ranges and soaking up the sun at the shore of the lakes.

Such behavior, naturally, was supposed to be beneath her, a thing for carefree children or those belonging to obscure, unimportant families free of the pressures of command and leadership. Ziara didn't care. Before long, she would never have the chance to do this again. Once she graduated Taharim, once she received her commission as an officer of the Expansionary Defense Fleet, her life would be encased in strong metal and electrostatic barriers, the black depths of the Chaos her only natural environment, the only suns seen through wide viewports at great distances. Once more, maybe twice after this sabbatical, and it would be the end of it, starships and shuttles and the underground tunnels of the Defense Fleet Headquarters keeping the sun from her skin and the fresh air from her lungs...

With a hiss, Ziara leaned back against the tree she sat under, her fingers absently twisting the wires of a small, unfinished sculpture in her lap, her eyes upturned as she gazed at the bright blue of the sky through verdant green canopy of leaves. Perhaps, she thought wryly, that he life truly would not be so different. After all, this sky was no true sky, the sun an artificial one, the lives of the Chiss of Csilla forced beneath a frozen shell when their planet had become too cold for even the ice that ran through the blood of all Chiss.

Closing her eyes, she let her fingers drag through the soft, short grass of the homestead's manicured lawns, a small smile on her lips as dapples of sunlight peeked through the leaves and warmed her face. Her thumb brushed the com on her hip, and for a fleeting moment, her thoughts once again drifted to Thrawn, as her thoughts so often had since she had discovered that the troublesome cadet had so rudely endeared himself to her. He hadn't called her again since he had on the first night she arrived, and while Ziara didn't think he would, as Thrawn wasn't the sort to call without a clear and specific purpose, she wished he had.

It was good, in a way. Not hearing from Thrawn meant that, true to his word, he was likely keeping out of trouble, and with no burning questions he needed her assistance to answer, with no mystery to be solved, there was no reason to contact her. Though, of course, the flip-side of that was that silence from Thrawn was _actually_ the preamble to catastrophe, the absence of something for him to puzzle through creating the perfect conditions and excuses he needed to go _looking_ for something to keep his interest. Again, her hand brushed her com. He didn't need to call her. _She_ could call _him_ , just to check in and make sure he hadn't burned down Taharim in an effort to check and see how quickly the Academy's emergency protocols were enacted.

She mentally chided herself, her hand jerking away from the com to rest once again on the wire sculpt in her hands. It wasn't her usual subject or style, rather an attempt to recreate a horned quadruped immortalized in one of the paintings in the homestead, and she had every intention to throw it at Thrawn when she returned. The intention was, of course, to throw him off, to introduce one of her works to him that was so wildly different from what she had created before that he was forced to reevaluate her, to second guess his previous analysis, to lead him to believe that perhaps her art, and therefore, her combat style had changed. Perhaps then, she would finally - _finally_ \- gain the upper hand against him the next time they sparred.

It would be such a delight to see that calm confidence hopelessly broken by confusion in the moment of her victory...

A chill fell over her, the sunlight glowing beyond her closed eyelids fading, and she frowned. A cloud passing by, she silently wished, but knew very well it wasn't, and muttering a curse under her breath, Ziara opened her eyes and saw her mother standing before her, the look on her face hard and stern and her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She only barely managed to not wince. She'd rather deal with ten of her fathers than her mother. She had defeated her father. She hadn't dealt the same decisive defeat to her mother.

"Mother," Ziara said quietly. "How very good to see you..."

"I'll get right to the point," her mother said tersely, and this time, Ziara _did_ wince. Bypassing politics and going straight in for the attack was a thing her highly aggressive mother was known for, and it left her little time to prepare a defense. "Are you intimate with this Mitth boy?"

"In what way?" Ziara said dryly, but her mother was having none of it and, kicking off her own shoes, she plunked down on the grass in front of Ziara, her toes grabbing at the fine blades of grass as her scowl deepened.

"You know _exactly_ what I mean," her mother said quietly, far more harsh than if she simply chose to yell at her. "You're stalling for time and I won't have it. Are you, or are you not having intercourse with this Mitth?"

" _Mother_!" Ziara snapped, her face warming under the intensity of her mother's critical gaze. "That's _personal_ , I won't-"

"Oh, stop it, Ziara," her mother said with a roll of her eyes. "You are a daughter of the Chiss. Sex is not a subject that sets us sputtering and balking like some unmounted male."

"I'm not, I-"

"You are," her mother interrupted. "You're embarrassed. Why? Have your conquests been unattractive? Unintelligent? From the wrong family, perhaps?"

"So help me, Mother..." Ziara groaned, covering her face with her hands. It wasn't that Ziara hadn't brought men to bed with her, and she had certainly done her fair share of bragging among her circle of friends. Their society may have been egalitarian, but for so long as the Chiss had existed, it was their females that were the sexually dominant aggressors, a unique mix of specific chemicals and hormones giving them a distinct biological advantage over their male counterparts. Stories about how they rendered some poor man thoughtlessly subservient and plaint as they were mounted was a common bonding subject amongst females, one Ziara had engaged in plenty of times herself. But _now_ , her mother was weaponizing it, and though she could see where this was going, she didn't know how to avoid it.

"I'm not embarrassed, there just isn't much to discuss," Ziara finally settled on. "There have only been three, and none of them serious. More important matters occupy my attention."

"Like the Mitth?" her mother supplied in a bright, unsettling tone, and Ziara glowered at her.

" _No_ , Mother, not like the Mitth," she huffed. "If you must know, no, we haven't been intimate, sexual or otherwise."

Her mother scoffed. "Not much of a match then, is it?"

"It isn't a match at all..." she grumbled with a dismissive wave of her hand. "He's a politically disastrous scandal waiting to happen and he lacks even a modicum of tact, has no social graces to speak of, and may very well be actually insane." She shrugged. "Is it any surprise I'm attracted to him?"

"When phrased like that, no, it isn't." Her mother was silent for a moment, her fingers drumming upon her leg and her eyes drifting thoughtfully out to the distant lake. "You have intentions for this Mitth?" she finally asked, and Ziara slumped against the tree.

"I'm not sure," Ziara muttered. "He's not exactly..." She huffed, taking the wire sculpt in her hands once again and beginning to twist the wires into place. "There are a lot of things to consider. He is singularly committed to his studies, he's never actually expressed any interest in...anyone, really, beyond academic curiosity, he's younger, so there's the chain of command to consider..."

"He's Mitth," her mother supplied, and Ziara shot her a glare that didn't seem to phase the calm woman.

"No, that hasn't entered into my considerations," Ziara said stiffly, and her mother gave her a wry, knowing smile.

"An awful lot of ruckus you've caused, Ziara, for an uncertainty."

"Father didn't give me much of a choice, now did he?" she swiftly countered.

"Perhaps not," her mother conceded as she stood and brushed herself off. "But when your Father has a cerebral aneurysm and dies from the continued stress of imagining his only daughter matched to and mounting a Mitth merit adoptive, it will be your doing."

"There's no need to be dramatic," Ziara said with a roll of her eyes, a frown on her lips as she swiftly ran through their conversation again. "...did you just scold me for being indecisive about my intentions?" A small smile touched the edge of her mother's lips, and the woman shrugged.

"A match between an Irizi and a Mitth, no matter how high or low in the family they stand, will never be approved," her mother said calmly. "Your spectacle last week was exactly that. Empty words and intentions without weight, power or meaning. Breath on a glass, and nothing more, and if our Syndics weren't so eager to stir controversy in hopes of political gain, this scandal would have remained within the family."

"Do you really want to test me, Mother?" Ziara said quietly, the ice of Csilla in her voice. "If you think for one moment that I lack the resolve-"

"There is not a single Chiss in the Irizi, from blood all the way down to merit adoptive, that believes you lack resolve, Ziara," her mother said with a tired sigh. "I understand the appeal of unmounted men, but certainly Taharim is filled with them."

"Maybe so," Ziara said with a smug smirk. "But none so intelligent."

"Certainly none so scandalous either," her mother said as she picked up her shoes, and instead of sliding them back on her feet, held them in her hands. "Stop being so committed to giving your father a stroke and leave this Mitth idiot alone," she said sternly, pointing at Ziara with her shoe.

"I don't want to leave this Mitth idiot alone," Ziara said between clenched teeth. "I like this Mitth idiot." With a long-suffering sigh, Ziara's mother closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, a few long, deep breaths extending the silence between them and making her shoulders slowly rise and fall. Her father's silence felt like a victory, but here with her mother, it just made her feel uncomfortable.

"Yes..." her mother finally said into the silence, opening her eyes to meet Ziara's gaze. "I am scolding you for your indecision." She quickly held up a hand when Ziara's brow drew together in confusion. "I am strongly opposed to your terrible taste, and I find it difficult to believe that you could possibly find anyone worse to be infatuated with than a Mitth who has tarnished your perfect record at Taharim with a cheating scandal."

" _It was dismissed_!" Ziara nearly shouted. "Why does everyone seem to forget that part?! It wasn't cheating, his solution to the simulation was so brilliant that the _tiny brains_ on the disciplinary panel could only explain it by insisting he must have cheated!"

" _But_ ," her mother said as if she hadn't spoken at all, a tight, strained patience in her voice, "you must decide what you will do. Indecision has no place in the heart of a Chiss warrior."

"...aren't you supposed to be trying to make this decision for me?"

"When has that ever actually worked?" her mother said flatly, earning a slight scoff from Ziara. "I may not approve, but I do understand the allure of trying to reach for something the family forbids."

"...it isn't about that, Mother," Ziara said softly, placing her sculpt on the ground and standing up. "That he's Mitth never mattered to me. I just..." She stopped, her lips pressing together into a thin line, a swirl of sentiment clouding her thoughts. What could she possibly say to explain it when she hardly understood it herself?

"I just like him," she settled on, her gaze falling to stare at both her and her mother's bare feet in the grass.

"Mm." With a nod, her mother turned away from her and slowly began walking back toward the mansion. "If you're committed to tangling with this filthy Mitth, the least you can do is be discrete about it. The shadow of a scandal sent the entire Syndicure into a frenzy. Just imagine if they had evidence to prove such a scandal actually existed."

"Imagine, then, how horrified they'll all be when I make that match a reality."

"Impossible," her mother called over her shoulder, waving her shoes dismissively. "The patriarchs of both the Mitth and the Irizi would never allow it."

"I wasn't going to ask them for permission," Ziara called back, and over the sound of the wind blowing across the hills, she heard her mother scoff, followed by her soft, amused chuckle.

* * *

The soft tap upon the door was answered with a muffled command to enter, and he stepped into the room, his eyes quickly accessing the office surroundings before settling on the man behind the desk, taking quick note of the tension in the lines around his eyes and a tired frown upon his lips, and not for the first time that day, Thrawn had the sense that he was in trouble, though for what, he couldn't possibly guess. After his initial foreboding since he had gotten the summons that morning, he had managed to convince himself that this was a routine procedure the family conducted to make certain their merit adoptives were preforming to their expectations.

Now, however, looking at the Mitth representative, he was becoming certain this was not the case. Perhaps it was a delayed investigation into his disciplinary hearing months ago, now that the scandal had been dismissed. That would have been preferable. Worse would have been if

Ras'kleoni had complained to the Mitth representative about him. Which was...possible. He had done as Ziara had said, offered the professor a short and sincere apology, and he had believed it had gone well, but it wouldn't have been the first time he misread a situation like that. He was adept at reading facial expressions and body language. He was often entirely blind to the social motivations behind them.

"Cadet Mitth'raw'nuru, reporting as requested," Thrawn said, and with a soft, hissed breath, the Mitth rep rolled his eyes and gestured to the chair in front of his desk, and with a swift nod, Thrawn seated himself as ordered.

"I'm Syndic Mitth'yen'illest," he said gravely. "I represent the interests of the Mitth's Patriel here on Naporar." Thrawn frowned as the Syndic tapped his questis, his eyes quickly flicking over the screen, and though Thrawn couldn't read the script from where he sat, there was a good chance he was reviewing his file. He had expected to deal with the Mitth representative to Taharim, as the summons had come from the office of the representative, but a Syndic was a significant jump in rank and indicated a more serious issue. His current missteps with Ras'kleoni was far beneath the notice of a Syndic, so...what was he even here for?

"How might I assist you, Syndic?" Thrawn said evenly, his previous apprehension fading swiftly before his curiosity, and Thyenil glanced up from his questis, a neutral expression on his face.

"Tell me about Taharim."

"...Taharim Academy is located central north on Naporar and is renowned as the finest officer's Academy in the-"

"I don't need to know _about_ the Academy!" the Syndic said swiftly, his voice tight with annoyance, and Thrawn straightened in his chair, his posture stiff as he waited for clarification. "I want to know about your time here."

"My...time?" Thrawn asked, glancing at the questis on the desk quickly before he turned his attention back to the Syndic. "I do believe you have access to my academic records and aptitude tests."

"I do," Thyenil said, his hands folding upon the desk before him. "That is not what I am asking about."

"...sir, am I in trouble?" Thrawn asked when he Syndic didn't offer any clarification, and the man leaned forward, a hard edge in his glowing eyes.

"Why?" he asked quietly. "Have you done something you shouldn't have?"

"Not that I am aware of."

"Hm." Thyenil sat back in his seat, the suspicious menace gone from his face. "I am asking about everything that isn't your academics," he continued. "How you're being treated, what social circles you're traveling in. That sort of thing." For a long moment, Thrawn was silent, his eyes narrowing as he examined the impassive Syndic's face, trying to glean something from his muscle tension, his body heat, his expression, but he saw nothing until a slight smirk touched the man's lips. "You are Mitth," he calmly explained. "A merit adoptive, yes, but a Mitth nonetheless. A slight against you is a slight against the family itself."

"Do you believe the Mitth are being shown disrespect at Taharim?" Thrawn asked, and Thyenil shrugged.

"That is why we're here today, is it not?"

"I am sure I do not know." Thrawn muttered. "I am attending Taharim to prepare for a military career, not to join a social club." He gestured to the questis upon the desk. "You have my academic record. Everything else is of no consequence."

"Oh?" the Syndic asked, his eyebrow rising and suspicion returning to his voice. "Allow me, then, to be more direct. Tell me about Irizi'ar'alani."

Thrawn immediately relaxed, the slightest smile touching his lips. Nebulous talk about social connections and politics was never something he did well, but this, he could talk about all day.

"Senior Cadet Ziara is an exemplary student and has distinguished herself in every task and challenge put to her by her instructors," Thrawn said evenly. "Her record is spotless, she is respected by her peers and instructors, and her grades and aptitude tests and logic matrix are well above the average."

"Not so high as yours," Thyenil said pointedly.

"No," Thrawn quietly agreed. "But she is more well-rounded. The recent command practicals will support that."

"You think highly of this Irizi," the Syndic said coldly, and Thrawn's posture stiffened, caution tightly gripping him.

"I think highly, sir, of a fellow cadet and a future officer of the Defense Fleet," Thrawn said calmly. "Her family is irrelevant."

"Is it?" Thyenil said scornfully. "You seem to know her very well. You two must be close."

"Everyone at Taharim is familiar with Senior Cadet Ziara's record," Thrawn said, his brow drawing together as he quickly thought through the reasons that the Mitth would suddenly be so interested in her. She couldn't possibly be in trouble, and as Irizi blood, she couldn't be rematched to another family, which left Thrawn with very little to go on. "As I have already said, she has distinguished herself, and she is well on track for a command rank, after she graduates."

"But are you _close_?" the Syndic repeated, and Thrawn, for a moment, was uncertain what to say.

"I have recently been informed that I am permitted to consider her my friend," Thrawn said, his voice wavering slightly as he became keenly aware of how awkward he felt. "I am unaware if that constitutes as close."

Narrowing his eyes, Thyenil once again leaned forward and took a long, hard look at the cadet, examining every uncomfortable shift in his seat, every nervous twitch of his lips, every uncertain flick of his eyes, and with a long, almost relieved sigh, he leaned back in his seat and gingerly rubbed at the ridges on his forehead. The boy was nervous, yes, though it seemed to come less from his attempts to hide something as it did from having no idea why he was there. Thrawn, it seemed, didn't know anything, nor did he seem interested in anything beyond matters which directly concerned the military.

"Is there anything else you can tell me?" the Syndic said almost absently as he turned on the questis and began taking notes, his attention already turned to other matters. Thrawn was silent for a moment, biting down on his lower lip as he carefully considered the question.

"Sometimes she makes sculptures of birds," he said almost timidly, uncertain if this was the sort of information he was looking for, though from the glare that was very suddenly turned upon him, he didn't suspect that it was anything the Syndic cared to hear.

"Indeed..." Thyenil grumbled, his fingers drumming upon the desk as he gave Thrawn another appraising look. More grasping at straws, an effort to give him what he believed he was looking for, and nothing more. "Thank you for your time, Cadet Mitth'raw'nuru," he said with a sigh. "You're dismissed."

Thrawn quickly got up, gave the Syndic a respectful nod, and quickly walked from the office, finally able to breathe easy again once he was back out in the hallway. He was pleased he was not in trouble, but he was unclear on what had just happened. It seemed implausible that a high ranking Mitth Syndic should come all the way out to Taharim to call a cadet into their office specifically to ask about Irizi'ar'alani when they could have just as easily examined her records on their own. Less likely to be about her record than about something else, though Thrawn could only guess as to what that could be.

Perhaps, in assessing a senior cadet for a command position, interviews were conducted in order to provide a complete assessment of their character, but if that was the case, Thrawn was a poor choice to answer their questions. He understood that there were other Mitth at Taharim, including some that were in Ziara's graduating class who would have attended lectures together with her and would have a better grasp on her performance. Ruefully, Thrawn considered that most likely, his presence in the Syndic's office had everything to do with her involvement in his acquittal of the charges brought forth by the disciplinary board.

Though why the Mitth were involved in such an assessment and not her own family, or why politicians were involved at all in matters regarding the fleet were questions that he didn't have answers for. There were too many inconsistencies for this to be the correct conclusion, too much information he was missing to even guess what was going on, though now that he was involved, he would very much like to know, and a call to Ziara seemed appropriate.

Lost in thought, Thrawn was only tangentially aware of his surroundings, the few other cadets that walked down the halls as they reported back from the sabbatical, others standing in groups as they met with friends and classmates, the buzz of conversation and the tapping of footsteps fading into background noise as he considered the possible reasons for the Mitth interest in Ziara. So focused that he didn't hear the rapid tread approaching him until it was too late, and before he could react, Thrawn was grabbed from behind, his arms pinned tightly to the side of his body.

Reacting on instinct alone, Thrawn shot one arm up, wrapped it around his attacker's neck, and swiftly dropped down to one knee, sending his trapped attacker flipping over his shoulder to land with a hard thud on the ground before him. Quickly shifting his weight, Thrawn dropped his other knee down onto his opponent's neck as he brought the other knee up, restraining the groaning attacker's arm and laying the elbow across his leg, he extended the arm, the joint straining under the threat of snapping with a sudden movement. From beginning to end, it had only taken two seconds, but that was enough for the entire hallway to fall deathly silent, every glowing eye upon him as he subdued his attacker.

"Well, hello to you too..." a strained, wheezing voice gasped from beneath him, and as if seeing him for the first time, Thrawn looked at his attacker, a tall, slender male dressed in the impeccable robes of the aristocra. A pit sunk in his stomach. If he wasn't in trouble before, he was certainly in trouble now. "If you would kindly get off my face, brother, I would greatly appreciate it."

" _Thrass_ ," Thrawn hissed, swiftly rising to his feet and pulling the haplessly thrown aristocra up with him. "What is it you were thinking, exactly, attacking me in this manner?"

"It wasn't an attack, Thrawn, it was a _hug_ ," Thrass said pointedly as he jabbed his finger against his brother's forehead, a frown forming on his lips as he glanced over his shoulder at the stunned, silent cadets that stood watching them " _Well_?!" Thrass asked sharply as he reeled on the gawking cadets. "You lot have never seen two grown men physically assault each other in a hallway before?!" It was enough to startle the cadets back into nervous, frantic action, and before long, the hallway was clear, save for the two brothers, still and silent as they watched the cadets leave.

"You certainly do know how to make a scene..." Thrawn said dryly, eying the aristocra as he smoothed out his robes and ran his fingers through his hair, not to bring order to it but to tousle it further.

"I'm not the one who made the scene, dear," Thrass said as he pat the other man's cheek, grinning widely when Thrawn flinched away from further touch. " _I_ just wanted to give my brother, who I have not seen in _ages_ , a hug. _You're_ the one who turned it into a combat scenario."

"Ages..." Thrawn scoffed. "I saw you three months ago, Thrass,"

"That doesn't count," the aristocra swiftly dismissed, giving his brother a swift appraising glance. "You're taller than when I last saw you. I can't very well continue calling myself your big brother when you're a full head taller than me!"

"I have been taller than you since I was thirteen," Thrawn said in a flat, dry voice. "Moreover, my size has nothing to do with your status as my big brother."

"Well, some things haven't changed, I see..." Thrass muttered as he ran his hands over Thrawn's shoulders, smoothing out the wrinkles on his uniform and making an irritated twitch begin at the corner of Thrawn's eye. "Come, dear, I need a drink."

"...it is eight in the morning, Thrass. It is too early to begin drinking."

"It is also too early to be flipped and have a knee on your face, but you don't see me complaining about it," Thrass said with a shrug. "Anyway, you can't start drinking if you haven't stopped!"

"Sometimes I wonder why the Mitth thought it was in their best interests to adopt you," Thrawn grumbled, and Thrass shot him a wide, charming smile.

"They may have taken you for your brains, Thrawn, but _me_ ," he drawled, laying a hand over his chest. "They took me because I'm _beautiful_."

"I rather doubt that," Thrawn scoffed. "If you keep behaving in this manner, they will revoke your status."

"Oh, I think they will find it rather difficult to do so," Thrass said flippantly as he draped an arm around Thrawn's shoulders, and with a deceptively strong grip, managed to stay firmly attacked to the taller man when Thrawn attempted to shrug him off. "I completed the trials three days ago."

"...did you really?"

" _Mitth'ras'safis_!" he said boisterously, holding up his hand, fingers splayed, and gestured broadly, as if he were bringing attention to something magnificent before them. There was nothing but the empty hall. "Trial Born of the Mitth!"

"You have my congratulations, brother," Thrawn said quietly, the slightest smile upon his lips as he glanced down at his elder brother.

"You can buy me a drink to celebrate," Thrass declared, dragging his brother with him as he began to slowly shuffle down the hall. "No need to worry about my status with the family, brother, when you have your own status to worry about." Thrass jerked back when Thrawn suddenly stopped, a hard, intense look in his little brother's eyes.

"...I was unaware that my status was in jeopardy," Thrawn finally muttered, and Thrass tilted his head as he looked up at the other man, the carefree, flippant attitude suddenly dropped in favor of sharp, shrewd intelligence.

"Really," Thrass said flatly. "You just came out of a meeting with Mitth'yen'illest, didn't you?" Thrawn nodded, but said nothing, taking refuge in silence as he so often did when his usually unshakable confidence cracked with uncertainty. Eyes narrowed, Thrass carefully examined Thrawn, searched his face for the slightest signs of what he was thinking, what he was feeling, all the things he kept hidden behind the calm, cold wall he had instinctively built around himself. All things Thrass could see when others could not, as he knew his brother better than most. But there was nothing, only confusion and concern, but nothing hidden, no deep and secret shame that he had been attempting to conceal, and Thrass flashed him a cheerful grin.

"The fact that you have no idea what's going on means you have nothing to worry about!" Thrass said flippantly, dragging Thrawn along with him as he once again headed down the hallway."Honestly, it's so like Thyenil to keep people in the dark, it's _so_ rude."

"Did I do something to upset the family?" Thrawn asked quietly, and laughing as he leaned against the taller man, Thrass patted him on the chest.

"Not at all. But _someone_ did. Family politics, you understand."

"...I do not think I do."

"Maybe not," Thrass said with a shrug. "But I'll fill you in over drinks."

"Do I even want to know?" Thrawn asked, his shoulders hunching.

"Probably not," Thrass said just a little too cheerfully, enough to make Thrawn wince and shoot him a glare that bordered on annoyance. "But I'm going to tell you anyway. There's little I love more than sharing a good scandal."

* * *

"You know, Thrawn," Thrass said as he brought the glass to his lips. "It's _terribly_ rude to refuse to have a drink with me."

"I am on duty," Thrawn said stiffly, his posture straight and rigid even as he sat in the oversized armchair in Thrass' apartment.

"On duty for _what_?" Thrass asked with a roll of his eyes, taking a long drink from his glass. "You have a job I don't know about? And before you say a thing, Thrawn, being _terrible_ isn't a job, nor is being my brother!" He huffed, a sneer crossing his lips as he took another drink. "You don't have to be so _sarcastic_ about it..."

"I have not said _anything_ ," Thrawn huffed, and with a smug smirk, Thrass pointed at him, light blue liquid sloshing out of the glass and on to his hand.

"No," Thrass agreed. "But you were _thinking_ it!"

"Have you been sober once since you completed the Trials?"

"Yes," Thrass said firmly, a pointedly unhappy frown upon his face to convey his intense displeasure. "Right now, Thrawn, I'm sober _right now_. I swear, there is not a Chiss in the Ascendancy capable of annihilating a buzz as quickly as you."

"I am pleased to hear it."

"Yeah, I bet you are..." Thrass muttered as he began to drink, the liquid bubbling as it drowned out his words. "Being a cadet at Taharim isn't a job," Thrass grumbled as he looked at his empty glass, frowned, and put it aside.

"Regulations forbid cadets from consuming alcohol," Thrawn said flatly.

" _Yes_!" Thrass snapped, pouring another glass and leaning forward in his seat as he held the beverage out to his brother. "While classes are in session! Not on the weekends and not on sabbatical. And if I'm not mistaken," he drawled, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the wall. "Why, look at the time!" he said excitedly as he gestured to the wall where there was, in fact, no clock. "Taharim's still on sabbatical for two more days!"

"...I suppose I should not be surprised that you read the fine print regarding Taharim's social regulations," Thrawn said quietly, the faintest smile upon his lips as his gaze drifted down to stare at his boots.

"Of course I read them, who do you think you're talking to?" Thrass shook the glass, the ice inside making a pleasing ting as it hit the edge. "Drink up, brother."

With a heavy sigh, Thrawn took the glass, a frown on his lips as he stared at the light blue liquid. "...how were the Trials?" Thrawn asked quietly, and Thrass gave him a non-committal shrug.

"Why? You thinking of taking them?"

"No," Thrawn said as he took a tiny sip from the glass, his nose wrinkling as the too-sweet liquid touched his tongue. "Just curious."

"If you have half a brain, the Trials aren't too challenging."

"So..." Thrawn drawled, swirling the liquor in the glass before he took a respectable drink. "Terribly difficult for you, then?"

"Alright, that's enough booze for you!" Thrass snarled as he snatched the glass away from his smug brother. "I've forgotten what a terribly mean drunk you are."

"A severe tactical oversight, if I have ever seen one."

"Mm." A sly grin spread across Thrass' face, a sharp and cunning deviousness in his eyes as he looked at Thrawn over the glass as he drank, a piercing, examining gaze that Thrawn was quick to return, the two brothers silently sizing each other up.

Thrass was, by most estimates, a flippant idiot, hopelessly social and by all accounts unable to keep his mouth shut or have a thought drift through his mind that was anything more than daft and superficial. It was, of course, exactly by Thrass' design. For as brilliant as Thrawn was with military tactics and strategy, Thrass was equally brilliant in the realm of politics, and since he was young enough to speak, he had carefully worked to influence how his peers and teachers saw him, all for the purpose of manipulating them into underestimating him.

It didn't fool the seasoned Syndic that had been sent to Rentor on recruitment duty.

Years of watching the professional politicians of the Syndicure had transformed Thrass from a cunning con artist into a master manipulator, a dangerous opponent for even the most experienced warriors and Syndics of the Ascendancy. He may have been Thrawn's brother and solidly on his side, but Thrawn never forgot how dangerous Mitth'ras'safis could be.

"So, brother mine," Thrass said with a smile as he set the now empty glass down. "We've talked about me long enough. How's Cadet Irizi'ar'alani doing?" The reaction was immediate, Thrawn's eyes narrowing in suspicion, and Thrass' grin widened.

"If you are interested in her well-being, Thrass, I would recommend that you contact the Irizi representatives and ask them to provide you with a method of speaking with her so that you might ask her yourself," Thrawn said calmly, though Thrass could hear the edge of irritation and suspicion straining his voice.

"Or you could save me the time and effort of having to go through all that trouble and just give me the number for her personal com," Thrass suggested with a shrug. "It would be the brotherly thing to do."

"Doing so would be a serious violation of her trust."

"Oh, so you _do_ have her personal com number?" Thrass asked sweetly, the victorious smirk upon his lips growing wider when he saw Thrawn's body heat elevate ever so slightly.

"A great many people are asking after Ziara today," Thrawn said slowly, his voice as calm and measured as he could make it. "Why? Did something happen?"

"I should say so," Thrass drawled, leaning back in his chair and delicately crossing his ankle over his knee. "I should have you know, Mitth'raw'nuru, that as an aristocra of the great and noble ruling house of Mitth, I am extremely disappointed." The haughty, imperious look upon his face swiftly cracked before a light and devious smile, his eyes lighting up with youthful excitement. "As your brother, however, I couldn't possible be more proud of you!"

"What are you talking about, Thrass."

"Uh, you and the Irizi girl?" Thrass scoffed, like it was the most obvious thing in the Ascendancy. "Word on the street is that my little brother had his virginity seduced away by an Irizi with _excellent_ bone structure." Calm, collected Thrawn looked _horrified_ for possibly the first time in his life, his eyes wide, his jaw slack and his face flushing a brilliant blue as he stared at his brother, and Thrass couldn't help himself as he leaned in toward him and lay a comforting hand upon his arm. "As your brother, Thrawn, you know I only have the deepest and most sincere concern for your well-being. Is she gentle when she mounts you, or does she ride you hard? Does she let you recover, or does she like to keep you sex stupid? How often? Is it good?! Details, Thrawn, _I need them_!"

"Is _this_ what all this has been about?" Thrawn finally managed to gasp. "The family is under the impression that I have been _inappropriate_ with Ziara?"

" _Well_ , not to split hairs, but they're more concerned about her being inappropriate with you..."

"Ziara would not do that!" Thrawn said firmly, his hand cutting across the air in a swift, definitive gesture, as if that would be the end of it. It wasn't, and with the way one of Thrass' eyebrows was raised as if challenging his brother's claim, Thrawn swiftly stood, his hands clasping tightly behind his back and his eyes narrowed as he stared the aristocra down. "Her record," Thrawn said tightly, "is _spotless_ , and it attests to the quality of her character. If the family took the time to even glance at her record, they would understand this rumor is baseless."

"There was no need to look her record because there was no cause to believe this was a rumor at all," Thrass said calmly, his hands folding before him as he watched his brother's furious pacing suddenly stop, and glancing up, found a cold, hard glare staring down at him. "This came from Irizi'ar'alani herself."

For a long moment, there was silence, Thrass' eyes fixed upon the swiftly changing expressions upon Thrawn's face, first disbelief, then anger, and then just confusion, his gaze falling to stare at the ground as if he were lost. Slowly, he lowered himself back into the seat, his hands running over his face and his fingers sliding into his hair. It was clear to Thrass that Thrawn didn't understand, and he felt a sudden stab of guilt for having told his brother this at all when his first gut reaction was that Thrawn truly didn't know anything, and certainly hadn't been dragged to bed. Of course he hadn't. The thought of Thrawn having sex was _absurd._

"Ziara said that?" Thrawn asked in a small, uncertain voice, and Thrass sighed heavily, leaned back in his chair, and poured himself another drink.

"Not in those exact terms, but it was implied..." Thrass muttered almost apologetically. "You really haven't been to bed with her, have you?" Thrawn said nothing, only shook his head, his gaze never lifting from the ground at his feet. "Well, I have to say, Thrawn, as an aristocra, I'm relieved, but as your brother..." Thrass gave a heavy, dramatic sigh. "You continue to be a great disappointment."

"It is entirely senseless..." Thrawn muttered, his brow creasing in thought. "Ziara has distinguished herself many times over and proved herself worthy of becoming a trusted leader specifically by avoiding allegations such as these that could damage her reputation." He frowned, finally looking up at his brother. "Why would she confess to a misconduct she is not guilty of?"

"Thrawn, it's just sex!" Thrass huffed, taking a long drink from the glass in his hand before he set it on the table. "There isn't any misconduct here, and sleeping with another cadet certainly isn't going to damage her standing at Taharim."

"...she is a senior cadet," Thrawn said quietly, and with a groan, Thrass put his face in his hands. Thrawn, _of course_ , didn't understand. "Would such actions with a junior student not be punishable by a disciplinary review?"

"Thrawn dear, if sleeping around were a punishable offense, you'd be the only student at Taharim." Thrass waved a hand dismissively, a wry smirk upon his lips as he looked at his brother. "No rules were broken, and she isn't in trouble. This is strictly political."

"...what exactly did she say?" Thrawn asked slowly, and with a weary sigh, Thrass filled up his glass.

"It would seem that the Irizi family Syndics are attempting to match her."

"Yes," Thrawn said. "She told me of her father's attempt, and that she had rejected the current proposal outright."

"Yes, well, that didn't sit well with the family," Thrass said dismissively. "Blood can be that way about matching. Anyway, her father pressed the issue, and in front of half the Irizi's highest born family, she declared herself to already be matched." Thrass paused, savoring the moment and the anticipation of seeing how his decidedly oblivious virgin brother was certain to react. "To _you_ , brother."

For a moment, Thrawn was silent, his eyes narrowing just slightly as he considered, and a wide, wicked grin spread across Thrass' face, waiting for the meaning of Ziara's actions to sink in, and-

"Ah," Thrawn said calmly, nodding in understanding as he leaned back in the chair, and Thrass could feel his jaw go slack. "Yes, that is sensible."

"... _sensible_?!" Thrass scoffed, a disbelieving laugh slipping past his lips as he stared at calm, controlled Thrawn. "Nothing about an Irizi announcing intentions to match with a Mitth is _sensible_!"

"Of course it is," Thrawn said quietly. "Given her position, it was her best possible vector of attack." A slight smile touched Thrawn's lips. "Ziara is...a cunning tactician."

"She's created a political uproar, brother, and she dragged you into it!"

"Perhaps..." Thrawn muttered. "But as you said, Thrass, this does not amount to misconduct and therefore, it will not effect our standing at Taharim." Thrawn smiled. "This is...only a political matter. Ziara achieved a victory with no casualties."

"Except for her family's reputation, and ours..." Thrass groaned, taking out his questis and keying it on.

"Matters I am certain that politicians such as yourself will be quick to correct."

"You're a menace..." Thrass said as he read through a report on the questis in his lap. "And the damage, Thrawn, will be repaired faster than you think." He tapped the questis. "Thyenil's report is in. The rumors," Thrass said, his voice deep in a mockery of the Syndic's, "are categorically false. Mitth'raw'nuru has not engaged in sexual intercourse and is too oblivious for this to be a likely risk in the future." Thrass put the questis down. "You left quite an impression, Thrawn. The report may as well have said 'Virgin alert, too dumb to get laid.'" Thrass had been hoping for a reaction, but instead, only got an indifferent shrug out of his brother.

"We cannot all be you, Thrass."

"I suppose not..." He shrugged. "Her plan didn't really work though, did it? Empty words never last long, and with Thyenil's report going right to the Mitth speaker, this whole matter will be over by tomorrow morning."

"One day before Taharim reconvenes for classes," Thrawn said quietly, that same small smile on his lips. "Not enough time for her family to revisit the matter of matching her before she returns from the sabbatical. She has bought herself the time and space necessary to adjust her tactics and plan a more lasting strategy." He took a deep breath and held Thrass' gaze for a moment before he looked away. "I would say, brother, that her plan was, in fact, a great success."

Thrass ran his finger around the edge of the glass, watching Thrawn carefully as the younger man leaned back in the chair, his head turned as he looked thoughtfully out the window, his expression entirely unreadable, though with the slight smile pulling at the edge of his lips, Thrass had a good guess as to what was going through his brother's mind. "You think very highly of her, don't you?"

"Hm?"

"Ziara," Thrass said, and Thrawn looked back at him, pulled out of his thoughts.

"There is much about her to be admired," Thrawn said quietly. "She has a knack for exploiting her opponent's weaknesses. The Defense Fleet is fortunate to have her."

"Alright, fine, so she's tactical," Thrass said with a roll of his eyes. "I can see the logic of sending the Irizi into a frenzy by suggesting a union to a rival family, but what if it wasn't just empty words, Thrawn? What if she was serious about her intentions because she has feelings for you?"

"Impossible," Thrawn said swiftly, more confident than Thrass had heard him all day. "She and I are already linked through a previous scandal. Tactically speaking, I was the best choice in order to create the desired conditions to allow her to retreat to a better position." There was a soft chime at his hip, and with a frown, Thrawn took the communicator in his hand and examined the identification.

"Let me guess..." Thrass drawled. "Ziara?" Thrawn quickly looked up, brief, muted surprise on his face.

"How did you know?"

"Lucky guess..." Thrass said smugly, his foot tapping on the ground as he watched Thrawn's body temperature elevate slightly. "You sure about how that girl feels about you?" Thrawn shot the grinning aristocra a withering glare. "Well, go on, brother! Answer it, don't keep the girl waiting!"

Keeping a hard glare on his brother for a moment longer, Thrawn answered the call, and to his brother's vast irritation, inserted his earpiece to keep him from hearing the call.

"Hello, Thrawn," Ziara said, and despite himself, Thrawn couldn't help the ghost of a smile on his lips.

"Good day, Ziara," Thrawn said quietly. "Are you in need of assistance?"

"No, nothing like that," Ziara said dismissively. "This is...a social call."

"I see." Thrass got out of his seat and leaned in toward his brother, his ear angled toward the earpiece in the hopes of hearing the conversation, and Thrawn put his hand on the aristocra's face and held him back, not even bothering to so much as glance at his nosey brother. "In that case, Ziara, I heard about your new match," Thrawn said dryly. "You have my condolences. I have been told that you could have done better than a merit adoptive of the Mitth."

Ziara hissed a string of curses under her breath, and Thrawn stayed silent, waiting for her to collect her thoughts and pointedly ignoring Thrass as he smacked his palm against his forehead. "Word travels faster than I had hoped," she finally muttered. "You're so politically disconnected that I thought I had a good chance of getting to you first."

"On its own, it is not a poor assumption to make," Thrawn said. "I have been asked about you all day, and I was unable to ascertain the correct conclusion on my own. I am, however, aquainted with someone very well-connected who provided me with the information."

"I see..." Ziara said with a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry, Thrawn..."

"Why?" Thrawn asked as he frowned at the com. "It was an excellent application of tactics in a difficult situation. One should never apologize for creative problem solving. It is, perhaps, not the tactics I would have used in a similar situation, but given the specific circumstances, your solution was more elegant than mine would have been."

"Oh yeah?" Ziara asked, relief and the hint of soft laughter in her voice. "I wondered about the approach you would have taken. What would you have done?"

"Excused myself, escape through a window, and taken the next ship back to Taharim," Thrawn said flatly, and this time, Ziara did laugh.

"You're right. Not nearly so elegant as creating a panic in the Syndicure. It's certainly more dignified than jumping out a window."

"Perhaps, though the methods are equally effective," Thrawn said with a shrug. "In the end, it is the victory that matters."

"Temporary as it was..." Ziara grumbled, and Thrawn could hear the irritation in her voice, and closing his eyes, he could see the way her nose wrinkled when she was agitated.

"You have bought yourself the time to devise a more permanent solution," Thrawn said quietly. "I have no question that you will."

"I believe I already have," Ziara said slyly, and Thrawn frowned, his eyes opening to stare suspiciously at the com. She had the exact same lit and tone to her voice she had whenever she was teasing him, though he couldn't even imagine what it could be. For a moment, he thought she was, perhaps, being sarcastic about having a plan, but he quickly dismissed it. Ziara had an uncommonly good knack for tactics and strategy, and no doubt by now had devised several vectors of approach to the situation and the time to ponder them and choose her best course. Beyond that, Thrawn didn't even have a guess as to what Ziara was up to.

"So, Thrawn..." Ziara continued. "What are you up to?"

"At the moment?" Thrawn looked at Thrass, who had since settled back in his seat and had bypassed the glass in favor of drinking straight from the bottle. "I am spending the day with my brother."

"...you have a brother?" Ziara asked quietly. "I didn't know you had a brother."

"A biological brother, also adopted by the Mitth," Thrawn said quietly, frowning as he watched a wide grin spread across Thrass' face. "Mitth'ras'safis."

"Mitth'ras'safis?" Ziara repeated, the slightest edge of distaste in her voice. "I heard he's an idiot."

"He is my brother," Thrawn said flatly as he glared at Thrass. "Of course he is an idiot."

Ziara gave a short, scoffing laugh. "I suppose we can't choose our family."

"No, we certainly cannot," Thrawn said quietly, the faintest smile on his lips as he watched Thrass throw back the last of the bottle. "I do believe our relationship has remained agreeable, however."

"Oh, _don't_ listen to him, Irizi'ar'alani!" Thrass shouted from his seat, pointing an accusing finger at the other man. "Thrawn is irredeemably _terrible_."

"Is that him?" Ziara asked, and Thrawn leaned back against the soft cushions of his armchair and glared at his smugly beaming brother. Among many other things, Thrass had an uncanny ability to sense when someone was speaking about him.

"It is..." Thrawn muttered, frowning when Thrass began cheerfully waving at him. "Thrass is excessively popular and well-liked immediately by everyone he meets. If you pay him any mind, it will elevate his ego to near intolerable levels, and my day with him is far from over."

"Well, I suppose we shouldn't talk about him," Ziara said coyly, and again, Thrawn closed his eyes, took a deep breath, ignoring his preening brother and instead focused on the inflection in her voice and the expressions and body movements that he knew were always paired with them. "I like his brother better anyway..."

"Of course you do," Thrawn said calmly. "You have never met Thrass. A moment ago, you were unaware I even had a brother." There was a brief moment of silence, followed by tight, aggravated sigh, and Thrawn could see the pursed frown on her lips, the way she always glanced off to the left when she was thinking.

"I won't keep you from your brother for long, Thrawn," she said quietly, carefully even, Thrawn thought. "I just wanted to tell you that I'll be back at Taharim tonight, and since we still have one day left of the sabbatical, I was wondering if you'd like to go out with me."

"Did you wish to return to the art gallery?" Thrawn asked, his eyes opening as he looked at the com in his hand. "We only spent an hour there before. There was a great deal we did not see."

"W-we certainly could, if you'd like," Ziara said hesitantly. "But it wasn't what I had in mind. There's... _something_ I wish to show you."

"Oh?" Thrawn asked, his interest piqued, and he sat up straight in the chair. "Did you make a discovery?"

"Mm, you can say that..." Ziara drawled, a bit distracted, Thrawn thought, though she had said she would be returning that evening, which meant she must have now been in transit. There were always a great many distractions present when traveling.

"Did you abscond with a piece of artwork from your family's homestead?" Thrawn asked, a slight, excited edge to his voice, and for a moment, there was silence, though he was unable to discern if it was due to her current distraction, or something else, most likely either irritation or thoughtfulness.

"You'll just have to wait to find out," Ziara muttered, a little muted. Thoughtful, then, he decided. "It's...a secret."

"I am eagerly anticipating the opportunity to discover what it is," Thrawn said, a faint smile playing at the edge of his lips. "Shall I meet you at your quarters?"

"Yes!" Ziara said quickly, the volume of her voice elevated, and again, Thrawn could imagine the so very slight increase in her body temperature. "Yes..." she said again, calmer this time. "If you arrive around noon, we can get something to eat first."

"Very well," Thrawn said quietly. "I shall see you tomorrow, Ziara." He ended the call, placed the device back on his belt, and turned his attention back to Thrass, who was staring at him, mouth agape, the closest thing to shock on his face that Thrawn had ever seen.

" _Brother_..." Thrass finally managed to gasp. "She's taking you on a _date_."

"Do not be absurd, Thrass," Thrawn said with a roll of his eyes. "Ziara is not like that. She simply wished to show me something."

"Yeah, she wants to show you where your reproductive organ is!" Thrass quickly snapped back. "Since you _obviously_ have no idea where it's located!"

"There are several logical flaws in your thought process," Thrawn said flatly. "The first of which is that I of course know where-"

" _Because_ ," Thrass interrupted, "I think your genital slit is closed up so damn tight that you've never even _seen_ your penis!"

"...that is a biological impossibility."

" _Is it_?!"

"...yes, Thrass."

"It's a _date_ ," Thrass drawled as he poured more liquor into the glass, stood up, and placed it on the table next to Thrawn's armchair. "With any luck, she'll work some magic on you, brother, because it's not good to keep your dick imprisoned the way you do. What did the poor boy ever do to earn him a life sentence, hm?"

"You do not know Ziara as I do, Thrass," Thrawn said quietly.

"I should hope not!" Thrass scoffed. "Lovely though she may be, she isn't exactly to my tastes."

"And this is not a matter I will continue to discuss." Thrawn said, picking up his drink and rising from his chair. "Are we going into the city, or were you planning on staying inside all day?" Scoffing as he rolled his eyes, Thrass stood up, snatched the bottle from the table, and beaconed Thrawn to follow, and as he trailed after his brother out of the elaborate politician's residence and into his speeder, Thrawn couldn't keep his thoughts from drifting to the secret that Ziara had promised to show him.


	3. The Heart of Csilla: Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, and welcome to the existential crisis that is me as an author. For those of you unfamiliar with my work, first of all, welcome, and second I am a disaster straight out of the pits of hell and I'm currently on fire in the dumpster in which I live. Like so much of my work, I get way, way too carried away with Feelings, Emotional Conflict, and Scenery Porn to be considered anything even close to reasonable. My idea of producing a three scene mess ending in a Spicy Time has now become Epic Length and Tonally Dissonant. So, um...
> 
> I split the chapter.
> 
> Sooooo...I'm sorry. The Spicy Times will be in the next chapter for sure. I'm literally incapable of doing anything that isn't a slow burn and I'm SO SORRY. Please enjoy this mess anyway.

It was six in the morning when Ziara woke. By the time she had run through her training regimen, bathed and eaten, it was eight o'clock. It only took fifteen minutes for restlessness to settle in, and in an attempt to keep herself occupied, she thoroughly cleaned her entire quarters, not a spot of dust to be seen on anything. That had taken her to nine o'clock. By quarter past nine, she had been reduced to impatient pacing. She was irrationally nervous, and all things considered would have rather been facing down an enemy war fleet than the prospects of presenting her feelings to oblivious Thrawn.

Not that it was too late to opt not to. She certainly could spend the day with Thrawn and never mention her affection for him, and in all likelihood, were she to say anything, there was a fair chance that it would have gone right over Thrawn's head anyway if it was anything less than a direct approach. And even if she were direct, she had the sinking suspicion he may not have understood anyway.

But Ziara knew herself, knew that indecision and inaction never sat well with her, and regardless of the outcome, she needed to get it out in the open. Even if Thrawn didn't feel the way she did, it needed to be said, she needed to have some resolution and closure on the matter so that she could put it to rest herself. With anyone else, there would have been a friendship and a working relationship to consider, weighing the delicate balance and determining if such things could even continue with the knowledge of those feelings added to the mix, the risk of losing both making the matter far more uncomfortable.

But not with Thrawn.

Thrawn, above all else, was logical and rational, his mind divided into neat, orderly compartments that allowed his actions to remain uninfluenced by emotions, be it his own, or others'. More likely than anything else, Thrawn wouldn't know what to do with this information, wouldn't truly understand it, and at the end of the day, things would remained unchanged between them. It wasn't what Ziara wanted, but it was the most likely outcome, and she could be alright with maintaining a friendship with Thrawn and put this whole matter of her idiot infatuation behind her.

She looked at the clock and felt frustration tightly grip her chest. Nine thirty, two and a half hours before Thrawn was scheduled to meet up with her, and she couldn't take it anymore. Hissing a curse between her teeth as she pulled on her shoes, she ran a last, quick check of herself in the mirror and left her quarters, her long stride taking her quickly down the halls of the dormitory. It was a full two and a half hours before she was supposed to meet Thrawn. Certainly he wouldn't mind her being a bit early. It's not like he had anything better to do anyway, and she would be doing him a favor by dragging him away from the studies that he didn't need to be doing.

It wasn't a long walk to the junior cadet dormitories, the grounds mostly empty save for a few small groups running in the training fields, most of the cadets of the Academy still returning from the sabbatical, or else taking advantage of the last day of the break and sleeping in. Ziara had never been one to sleep in terribly late, though she too, on occasion, had been guilty of wasting half a day in bed, usually after parties that had run too late or if she drank too much. It wasn't a frequent occurrence, but Ziara was often down to party.

It was part of the reason she had been so disappointed in Thrawn's idea of a celebration being a visit to an art gallery.

Since then, she had come to appreciate studious Thrawn's concept of a good time, but that didn't mean he couldn't expand his horizons a bit. Or a very great deal, if she was being honest.

It only took Ziara a moment to find Thrawn's name and room number in the registry once she arrived at the dormitory, and before long, she was off, opting for a muck longer climb up the stairs than taking the lift, hoping that the exertion would help dull the edges of her frayed nerves. It had worked, and by the time she reached the top floor of the dormitory where Thrawn resided, she was out of breath, her face flushed with heat and her heart beating fast and strong, though her limbs and muscles felt loose and relaxed, as she had hoped. Taking a deep breath and feeling much more confident than before, she stepped out into the hallway, took a moment to orient herself, and walked down toward the end of the hall where Thrawn's room was located.

She knocked on his door and wasn't left waiting for long before Thrawn answered, and in an instant, the relaxed ease Ziara had been feeling had vanished, her throat tightening as her heart began to pound furiously in her chest, and in the back of her mind, a small, snide voice told her that _of course_ this would happen, _had_ to happen, with someone with such horrifically inconvenient timing as Thrawn.

There, standing in the doorway entirely bare chested, was Thrawn, his skin flushed a deep blue and glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, his hair disheveled in a way she had never seen, and Ziara had to quickly look away, fighting against the heat she felt swiftly creeping across her face and ears and failing spectacularly. Looking away did nothing to help the matter, her eyes slowly running down his body instead of staring at her feet as she had intended, the muscle strong and lean and so well defined that she could see every line and divide as clear as if she were back studying anatomy in a textbook. When she had imagined Thrawn in various states of undress before, he had been exactly this build, and she expected the reality to be very close to her imagination, given how tall, thin and strong he was, but actually _seeing_ it was another thing entirely.

Quietly chiding herself, she forced herself to look back up at him, and couldn't help the smug, knowing smile that ghosted over her lips. Thrawn did, in fact, have bright red freckles scattered across his shoulders.

"Ziara," Thrawn muttered, frowning as he looked at her and running his fingers through his hair. "I had been under the impression that we were to meet at noon."

"We were," she said coyly, inching closer toward him and privately delighting in the way his brow creased as he slightly shuffled backwards. "I finished my tasks early. I thought you wouldn't mind meeting before our appointed time."

"Not at all..." Thrawn muttered, stepping out of the doorway and gesturing for her to enter. "Please, come in." Ziara couldn't help the slight skip her heart took and wondered if Thrawn noticed the slight hitch in her breath. She hadn't been to Thrawn's quarters before, and the first thing she noticed was that the room had to be a good thirty degrees colder than it had been out in the hallway, and she instinctively shivered, her shoulders hunching slightly as her body objected to the sudden temperature drop.

"I find the discrepancy between body heat and external temperature expends more energy and leads to more effective and efficient training," Thrawn said quietly as he shut the door, and not for the first time in their friendship, Ziara was certain he could read minds.

"Certainly it makes it easier for injuries to occur," Ziara put in, and Thrawn shrugged.

"Not if the time is set aside for a proper warm-up and stretching regimen."

"You know, Thrawn..." Ziara drawled, giving the man a stern look that was softened considerably by the smirk on her lips. "Not everything has to be about efficience and effectiveness. You _can_ just say you like the cold." Thrawn was silent for a moment, his lips compressed together and his gaze falling to the ground before he slowly nodded.

"Yes..." he said quietly. "I enjoy the cold."

"You'd fit right in on Csaplar. It doesn't get much colder than our capital." She raked her eyes over him once again, slower this time so Thrawn could _know_ she was looking and maybe take a hint, but if he noticed at all, and she was certain he did, then he entirely missed the implication. Ziara felt her jaw clench as her teeth ground together. _Be direct_ , she told herself. "So..." she said quietly, her eyelids lowering as she took a step closer to the shirtless boy. "Are we going to head out, or are you going to just stand there so I can look at you?"

She did get a reaction out of him that time, a sharp intake of breath, his body heat rising slightly as he swiftly looked away from her, and for a moment, she had thought that she had achieved the desired outcome, that Thrawn's silence was a result of the shy reserve she had expected him to display when he was confronted with her attraction for him. The moment was swiftly and unapologetically ruined when Thrawn's casual obliviousness once again showed itself when he looked back at her with his infuriating neutral expression, the obvious flirtation in her voice missed completely and taken instead as the presentation of their options for the morning.

It took every bit of Ziara's formidable self-control and restraint to keep herself from screaming.

"You have my apologies, Ziara," Thrawn said flatly as he stepped away from the girl and gave her a small, cordial bow of his head. "I was not anticipating your arrival. If you do not mind waiting, I will shower and shall be ready to depart in ten minutes."

"If I did mind waiting, could I join you?" Ziara asked, and this time, she barely got a response at all, only a small, almost shy smile as he silently stepped into the bathroom, the door closing behind him. He thought she was joking, of course. And why shouldn't he? It was _absurd_ , being so forward about something he had no cause to believe was true. She had never done anything before to make him believe such a thing, because until recently she hadn't known either. Thrawn had clearly never had this sort of attention before, and faced with it now, it seemed the boy could only write it off as Ziara, who had been known to tease him, had simply altered her tactics to see if she could get another rise out of him.

If being subtle went right over his head and being direct was taken as a joke, what was she supposed to do?

Groaning, Ziara put her hands over her face, her fingers rubbing small circles on the ridges on her forehead. She needed time to think on what she would do, time to feel the situation out and find out if Thrawn was even amenable to her romantic advancements before she went and made an utter fool of herself again. She was still committed to telling him, making him understand what she felt, though she still needed to choose her vector of attack, and the younger man wasn't making it easy for her. Thrawn was so well defended, so tightly guarded, so deliberate and carefully controlled that success on this front seemed unlikely without doing something drastic. Thrawn needed to be thrown off balance, caught in something unexpected just long enough for Ziara to get in while he was vulnerable.

That, she could do.

Taking a deep breath when she heard the water begin running in the bathroom, she figured that so long as she was waiting, she could poke around Thrawn's room and learn what she could about him from his surroundings. It was a pale imitation of what Thrawn himself was capable of gleaning from a room, but Ziara wasn't unobservant by any means, and she possessed instincts for this sort of thing that her peers and professors praised her for on multiple occasions. Resolved, she dropped her hands away from her face and surveyed the room around her, a thing she had neglected to do when a shirtless, workout flushed Thrawn gave her something more appealing to look at.

A second later, and she had finished.

She stood in the middle of the room, her jaw slack, as she once again raked her eyes over her surroundings. Her own quarters had been furnished with bookshelves filled with books of all sorts and display racks where her many wire sculptured were placed. Commendation plaques from her time at the Academy had been mounted to the wall as well as a drapery with the Irizi family crest embroidered upon it. She even kept a small plant upon her desk, a rare breed of tree that once grew up from the ice of Csilla before the deep freeze, and now, so far as she knew, only grew on the grounds of her homestead. Nearly four years at Taharim, and Ziara had made her quarters her home, her own personalized space that reflected her very soul.

But Thrawn's quarters...

The bed in the corner was neatly made, the desk by the window clear of any paperwork or clutter, only his questis sitting neatly in the middle of the otherwise unoccupied surface, the entire room surrounded by barren walls with not a single thing upon them. There was _nothing_ here, no personal touch, no possessions he had elected to bring with him, no sign even that anyone occupied the space at all. The space looked very much like her own quarters did on the day she had moved in, clean and neat and entirely vacant, and Ziara couldn't understand how a merit adoptive from a Ruling Family, how a man who loved art as passionately as Thrawn, could have _nothing_.

"Are you ready to leave?"

Ziara gasped, her body tense as she swiftly spun around, and hissed a curse under her breath when she looked at Thrawn, silently hoping she hadn't jumped too much when the man startled her. She had been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn't heard the water shut off, nor had she noticed how quickly Thrawn's promised ten minutes passed by. "My apologies..." Thrawn muttered, and Ziara almost winced. _Of course_ he'd notice this and not her extremely obvious romantic advances. "It was not my intention to startle you."

"You don't need to apologize for my lack of awareness," Ziara grumbled, distracting herself from the rising warmth in her face by giving Thrawn a good look. It was the first time she had seen him in clothing that hadn't been specifically issued by Taharim, and while his style was simple, she hadn't expected any differently, and much to her satisfaction, the simple cut and dark colors were striking on the unassuming man. Looking at him, she belatedly realized, did little to help her swiftly rising body temperature. What also wasn't helping was that Thrawn was carefully examining her as well.

"What is it you were thinking about?" Thrawn asked quietly, and Ziara huffed out a breath, a frown upon her face as she gestured toward the wall.

"For as many art galleries as you visit, I'd have thought you'd have a better grasp on how to hang things upon the wall!" she snapped, more harsh than she intended, though it provided her with an alternative explanation as to why her face had become so flushed. "It looks like the surface of Csilla in here. It _feels_ like the surface of Csilla in here!" she added as she rubbed her hands vigorously over her arms. "You know, you _are_ allowed to decorate your quarters."

"I do not create art, as you do," Thrawn said softly, calmly, a perfect contrast to how Ziara felt.

"You don't need to create art to decorate a room, Thrawn," Ziara huffed with a roll of her eyes. "You could put anything you want in here. You love art, you could hang a painting."

"Art is expensive..." Thrawn muttered, his gaze drifting once again to stare at his feet, and Ziara felt a twinge of guilt in her gut. Thrawn was a merit adoptive of the Mitth, which meant that while he currently had the family's vast wealth at his disposal, the family he had been born into could have been anything, and with how bare his quarters were, with how clever he was with managing his resources, it seemed very likely that he had come from a family with very little. Any upbringing was difficult to shed, and a difficult one even more so.

She'd have to ask him about it later.

"Not _all_ art is expensive," she quietly chided. "I'm not talking about museum pieces and masterworks, I'm talking about _anything_. Something you find appealing. A poster, or something."

"...to what end?" Thrawn quietly asked.

"...you know what? Never mind, Thrawn," Ziara sighed. "When we're out today, we'll find a few things for you to bring back."

"That is not necessary," Thrawn objected. "I find a lack of distractions allows for greater focus."

"Excuse me, but have you even met yourself?" Ziara asked, a single eyebrow raised as she stared at the man. "You are the most singularly dedicated and focused Chiss in the entire Ascendancy. Not only do I know that you would have no trouble at all focusing if we throw some things up on your walls, but I'd argue that you, Mitth'raw'nuru, can use a good distraction."

"...what would you suggest?" Thrawn asked, quiet, reserved, his brow creased the way it always did when he was thoughtful, and Ziara took a step closer to him, a coy smile upon her lips and her eyes half-lidded as she took gentle hold of his upper arm.

"I may have an idea about that," she drawled. "Come. Maybe we'll find it while we're out today."

* * *

The extra time they had was spent wandering through a morning merchant's market in the small town adjacent to Taharim Academy, Ziara wholeheartedly committed to finding some sort of artwork for Thrawn's quarters, and Thrawn too occupied with taking in the sights and smells and sounds to notice. It wasn't Thrawn's first time away from the Academy, but just by looking at him, Ziara would have thought the man had never seen civilization before, his winding path through the market stalls slow and meandering, his eyes slowly roving over every face, every body, everything on display. But she knew him better than to think he was awed, or even impressed, those sharp eyes and quick mind assessing and analyzing everything around him, both the things she could see as well, and the things she knew she never could.

Attempts to get Thrawn to actually pick something he liked started off as unreasonably difficult and quickly became a bleak impossibility. If Ziara didn't keep eyes on him at all times, the moment she turned around, he'd vanish, his interest caught by something small at another stall or by the embroidery pattern on a passerby's robes. If it wasn't that, more frustratingly, when she'd managed to drag him where she wanted him to point out something she felt fit his tastes, he would find that the opportune time to revisit a conversation they had already strayed away from. There were few people who could revisit a dropped topic like Thrawn could, a thing that left people off-balance and reeling from the sudden switch, and Ziara often admired the ability as one that could have been eminently useful to him if he had even the hint of political cunning, which he didn't. And now, it was proving to be nothing more than a vast irritation to her.

Perhaps he hadn't been disingenuous when he suggested that he kept his room bare in order to aid his focus.

It was a game Ziara could play as well. She too could pick up a dropped conversation in order to get more honest answers out of a disoriented opponent. The question was if it would work on Thrawn, or if he was simply ruminating on the subjects they had long since moved on from in the moments of silence that fell between them.

It was only after they had eaten a quick lunch and headed to a nearby park when Ziara had chosen to test the waters with a demanded, "Why didn't you pick any of the art they were selling?"

"It was not art," came the swift reply, and Ziara winced. Not only had she been unable to unbalance him with the sudden shift in their conversation, but he hadn't even hesitated, responding so quickly and automatically that she wasn't even certain he had heard the question at all, almost as if he had been anticipating it. Which Ziara was certain he was.

"It _was_ art," Ziara insisted, earning herself a sideways glare from the man she walked beside. "There were even replicas of _actual_ famous works of art!"

"I am not in need of replica works of art," Thrawn muttered quietly. "I have access to a complete digital library of Chiss artwork on my questis." He paused, looking down at Ziara and taking note of the pursed frown upon her lips. "...furthermore, calling what was on display replicas is somewhat inaccurate, as they appeared to have been printed upon sheets instead of manually recreated. That cannot be considered art, by any stretch of the imagination."

"I think you're missing the point, Thrawn..." Ziara ground out between clenched teeth as she pinched the bridge of her nose. "It doesn't need to be _art_ , it just needs to be decorations so your quarters don't look like the inside of a shipping crate!" For a moment, Thrawn was silent, his head turning slightly to look at the bed of exotic flowers they were passing before he stopped, still for a moment before he looked back at Ziara.

"Art," he said softly, "carries purpose and meaning. It reflects the soul of its creator and the culture they belong to. There is vast knowledge and insight to be gained from art, and it is to be revered and respected. If I am to place art in my quarters, Ziara, it will not be a pale imitation, it will be something of significance that I may put in a place of honor." Hie eyes met hers, brightly glowing and intense, and Ziara felt a shiver run up her spine. "I will accept nothing less."

"Thrawn," Ziara said quietly after a moment of silence. "You are _never_ going to find something like that in a merchant's market." He said nothing, only gave a small, noncommital shrug, and cocking her head as she examined his face, she took a step closer to him. There was tension there, a slight discomfort that stood in stark contrast to the usual confidence he exhibited, a thing that she only saw when he was confronted with situations he knew he had no talent for, and here, away from the Academy and the military in which he excelled, he was certainly out of his element.

"You really didn't bring anything with you when you came to Taharim?" Ziara asked quietly, stepping closer to him and laying her hand over her forearm, and this time she felt his muscles quickly tense, a twitch reflex, she realized with growing sense of unease, and she couldn't help herself from wondering what had happened to Thrawn to make him instinctively flinch at physical contact. She was certain it hadn't happened before, _certain_ that she would have noticed it before if he had, and in all the times they has sparred together, he never had. Even that morning in her failed attempts at flirtation, it was almost as if he hadn't even noticed that she had touched him, so...why now?

"I came to Taharim to study and train for a military career," Thrawn said firmly, the uncertainty she had seen in his face gone as If it had never been there, his arm beneath her hand relaxed, and Ziara began to question if she hadn't just imagined it all. "My personal effects would not aid me in my studies. There was no purpose in bringing them." He shrugged, indifferent once again as he looked away from her and returned his attention to the scenic beauty of the park. "I did not possess much anyway."

"The Mitth didn't provide you with what you wanted?" Ziara asked, her nose wrinkling as she pushed down the reflexive disdain she felt rising up inside her at the mention of the rival family, a thing put into her when she was young that she was actively and diligently working to combat.

"They did," Thrawn said without hesitation, his voice distant and thoughtful as he slowed his pace, their already slow walk through the park becoming an almost unmoving shuffle. "Elevated education, the opportunity to study at Taharim, frequent trips to Rentor's cultural centers to visit the art galleries." He shrugged, his hands slipping into his pockets. "The things that matter. Possessions are...just objects, Ziara."

"Sure, but those objects can have meaning," Ziara objected, and again, Thrawn looked at her, a distant, almost sad look in his eyes before he again looked away and slowly nodded.

"One day," he said so softly that Ziara had to lean in closer to him to hear, "I will have a collection of art. Not just of the Chiss, but from cultures all across the Chaos. Maybe even from Lesser Space, if I ever make it so far."

"...you could start that collection now, Thrawn," Ziara quietly put in, and this time, a small smile touched Thrawn's lips, the look he gave her the softest she had ever seen from his usually intense gaze. She couldn't keep her heart from skipping.

"Perhaps..." he muttered. "If I am able to secure a work worthy of reverence." He paused, the softness in his eyes vanishing as his lips pressed tightly together, as if he had been so rudely dropped back into the present. "Though my current situation is transitory. I am not overly eager to begin a collection of personal possessions when I will be moved to the senior cadet dormitories, and then out of Taharim in a few years." His frown deepened. "If I am not expelled before then. An excess of personal effects would make relocation...inconvenient."

Ziara nodded, but said nothing, her fingers lightly stroking Thrawn's arm as she gently tugged him to continue walking. Of course there was something sensible and utilitarian in Thrawn's motivation, but more than that, Thrawn had been correct about something she hadn't even considered. Thrawn's entire life had been in transit, first from his birth family to the Mitth, then from Rentor to Taharim, and in his near future, he was looking at another upheaval, this one from solid ground to a starship where he would likely remain for the rest of his life. Or, alternatively, he could find himself cast out of Taharim if he offended the wrong idiots, and the loss of his military commission meant the loss of his status as a merit adoptive, and then...what? A return to his birth family on Rentor, where he would flounder in a position that saw his talents gone to waste? Or, knowing Thrawn, boredom would see his considerable genius leading him directly into the center of as much trouble as he could find, which would almost certainly lead him right into the care of a maximum security lockdown facility for the criminally insane.

For all the headache her family caused her, for all the shifting political games she hadn't the slightest bit of patience for, Ziara's life had always been stable and certain in a way that Thrawn's never had been. Even when she scandalized the family because of her intentions for a merit adoptive of a bitter rival family, she still had their support as a daughter of the Irizi. An allegiance she would put to the test when she brought her intended match home with her, she thought as her eyes slowly raked over Thrawn's calm, thoughtful profile.

Now was as good a time as any.

"Thrawn..." Ziara asked, her hand moving up to brush the back of his upper arm, and she swallowed hard, trying to calm her racing heart. "What is it you desire-"

" _Art_!" Thrawn interrupted with an excited gasp, stopping so suddenly and jerking out of her reach as he turned away from her, his hand pointed resolutely toward the nearest bed of plants and flowers. "Ziara, you did not inform me that this was a sculpture garden."

"I didn't think it was..." Ziara grumbled under her breath as she tightly crossed her arms over her chest and watched Thrawn gracefully leap over the hedge guarding the flowerbed and land in the dirt without trampling upon a single plant. She hadn't known there was art in the park. Rather, she had brought Thrawn there because that particular park was well known as a favorite spot for couples to gather, due to the abundantly beautiful scenery and the several quiet nooks nestled among the trees and shielded from prying eyes, which made it ideal for romantic rendevous. It hadn't been the first time she had brought a boy here, but the previous times she had been focused on other things and hadn't noticed the artwork that had been covertly nestled among the flowers. Even now, she had to squint to see what Thrawn was so diligently examining, the small, rounded orb covered in moss and sitting upon a pedestal wrapped in vines. Quietly, she cursed herself for never having the foresight to research the place.

Leave it to Thrawn to discover a small, obscured sculpture hidden amongst the plants and take no note at all of the literal hundreds of pairs of couples leaning against each other as they walked or laying beneath the shade of the trees scattered across the manicured lawns.

"Ziara, come look at this," Thrawn called over his shoulder, and Ziara groaned, rolled her eyes, and began stomping toward him.

"Thrawn! Get out of the planter box _this instant_!"

"This," Thrawn said reverently as his hand laid upon the stone orb, categorically ignoring Ziara's command, "is Avidich."

"There's a hedge surrounding the flowerbed, Thrawn..." Ziara said tiredly as she pinched the bridge of her nose. "It was put there to keep people from trampling over the flowers, not as an invitation to leap over it!"

"I am pleased you mentioned the hedge," Thrawn said, turning toward her and squatting down to bring his eyes level with the top of the pale orange shrub. He made no move to leave the flowerbed. "This particular species of plant is only found growing high in the mountains of Avidich. The rest of the surrounding plants in this particular garden are native to Avidich." He stood, turning again to face the nondescript stone orb. "It seems highly likely that this carving as well is made from Avidich's natural stone."

"It's _just_ a sphere," Ziara scoffed. "It isn't even carved. I'd hardly call that art."

"But it is," Thrawn said, excitedly, his fingers lightly brushing the smooth surface before he once again turned to face Ziara, a genuine smile upon his lips and that same thoughtful softness in his gaze that she saw before. "I would like to suggest that you are somewhat limited in your understanding of art. Art need not be a sculpture or a painting, it only needs to encompass the soul of the artist that created it." Again, his fingers brushed the surface of the sphere. "This carving is only a small piece of a larger work. The garden itself is the work of art."

"A representation of Avidich's natural environment?" Ziara asked, but already, she had lost Thrawn's attention, his gaze becoming distant and unfocused as he looked away from her, his eyes slowly drifting over the distant flora scattered across the park.

"A small piece of a larger work..." he muttered under his breath, and before Ziara could say another word, she watched Thrawn suck in a sharp breath,, his shoulders tensed as he drew up tall, his intense focus returning, and without warning, he once again leapt over the hedge and began sprinting across the expansive lawns toward a massive tree at the center of the park.

For a long moment, Ziara could only stare at the increasingly more distant Thrawn, and remembering that on his own, Thrawn was predisposed to getting in incredible amounts of trouble, she hissed a curse and ran after him as quickly as her legs could carry her.

The tree Thrawn was running toward was ancient and massive, light ice blue wood topped with a canopy of brilliant dark blue and indigo leaves, a tree that had been native to Csilla before the deep freeze disrupted the ecosystem and destroyed most of the native plant life on the frozen planet's surface. This particular species of tree wasn't scarce, by any means. Several grew upon the grounds of the Irizi homestead, and Ziara was certain that they grew within the homesteads of the other Ruling Families as well, and she was aware of several conservation foundations that transplanted the trees throughout the Ascendancy and made certain that the beautiful trees did not die out. For this species, it was an easy thing. Much like the Chiss themselves, the harsh climate the tree was native from made it excessively resilient and able to thrive under most conditions. Moreover, they were protected, which allowed the Chiss to keep a thriving population long past their native environment became too bitterly cold.

The tree in the park was no different, likely brought to Naporar not long after Csilla had cooled, and was protected by a high stone and iron wall that encircled a wide space around the tree. Even though she ran as fast as her legs could carry her, as Ziara watched the perfect form of Thrawn's tireless sprint, she knew she was staring down the inevitable. She had seen the younger cadet run through Taharim's obstacle courses, had seen him use his superior strategy and tactics to break the course record, and then three times more break the records that he himself had set. Ziara knew better than most that when determined, there wasn't a wall or fence in existence that could keep Thrawn out if he wished to get in.

Thrawn effortlessly vaulted over the wall, and Ziara made it over just in time to see Thrawn jump up and grab hold of one of the large branches and pull himself up, a singular focus driving him to begin quickly scaling the tree. Stopping at the base of the tree and looking upwards into the canopy, Ziara growled a curse when she couldn't see Thrawn at all, the royal blues and indigos of the leaves providing a perfect camouflage for Chiss blue skin.

She was going to kill him.

" _Thrawn_!" Ziara called up into the tree, breathless irritation rising the pitch of her voice. "Thrawn, you come down here _this instant_!"

There was silence, only the faint sound of leaves rustling in a light breeze and the distant sound of chirping avians. And then, the soft reply of, "Come up and see this, Ziara."

"This is a protected tree, Thrawn! We shouldn't be here, you're going to get us both into trouble!" Again, there was silence, for long enough that Ziara thought that maybe he hadn't heard her, or else was deliberately ignoring her, and then the leaves began to rustle as the branches moved, and a moment later, Thrawn landed upon the branch directly over her head, a calm, neutral expression on his face. She briefly wondered how it was that every single time she felt stressed were the times when Thrawn seemed the calmest.

"This tree is large enough to support the weight of several hundred people without exhibiting any wear or strain upon it," Thrawn said quietly. "I am causing no damage to it."

"That isn't the point!" Ziara snapped, glaring up at the man who had somehow already recovered from his mad sprint across the park, his breathing slow and even and his body heat returned to normal. "We aren't supposed to be here, that's the point!"

"I disagree," Thrawn replied, and Ziara just stared at him, looked back at the wall that they had to climb to even reach the tree, and then returned her gaze to her _idiot_ friend, her hand slowly raising to deliberately point at the wall.

"The presence of a wall, _Thrawn_ , implies that someone wants to keep us out! What part of that don't you understand!"

"This park was built to express an artistic vision," Thrawn said, a slight frown on his face as his brow drew together. "The only place the work can be experienced as a whole is from up here."

"This park," Ziara growled between clenched teeth, "was made so Taharim cadets could get away from the Academy and kiss in public!"

"...that appears to be the trend, yes..." Thrawn muttered as he looked out over the park, and Ziara could feel her face begin burning with what she decided was embarrassment. So Thrawn _had_ noticed. She couldn't decide if it was better or worse that Thrawn hadn't been as obtuse as she thought. "Never the less," he said, the confidence returned to his voice as he once again looked down at her, "the reason it was built and the common usage are different matters. This natural reserve is a work of art, and Chiss art belongs to all Chiss. An attempt to keep us from appreciating it as it was intended is an imposition on our rights to this artwork."

"...you're a little shit, you know?" Ziara grumbled as she pointed an accusing finger at the boy in the tree. "Looking for loopholes to exploit is exactly the sort of thing that's going to get you into trouble."

Thrawn said nothing as he looked down at Ziara, a small smile touching his lips, and crouching down on the branch, he reached down and offered Ziara his hand. For a moment, she just looked at him, felt her own lips twist into the same mischievous smile he had upon his face, and she jumped up and grabbed his hand, her heart pounding as he pulled her up into the tree.

It was an easy climb, once she was up, the branches thick and sturdy and numerous, and while she initially followed in Thrawn's path, Ziara very quickly struck her own way, slipping out from beneath him to come around to another side of the tree where the branches were tighter together, but offered her more comfortable grips. Her smaller stature allowed her to weave through tighter spots than Thrawn, and before long, she was even with him, and peering at him through the leaves and branches between them, a wicked grin on her face and hard determination in her eyes, Ziara climbed faster. She was uncertain where they were exactly going, but where ever it was, Ziara was resolved to beat thrawn there.

The increase in Ziara's speed spurred Thrawn faster as well, and before too long, the two Chiss were racing through the branches toward the top of the ancient tree, the light streaming in from above them as they went higher giving Ziara Ziara a destination to reach for. Before long, Ziara made it, her breathing fast and heavy and humidity and sweat clinging to her skin, a triumphant grin upon her face as she watched Thrawn pull himself up a second after her.

"Well done, Ziara," Thrawn said quietly, smiling softly as she leaned back against the central trunk of the tree. "You are a superior climber than I."

"This time," Ziara said with a shrug. "I've no doubt you'll be back to the obstacle course soon enough in your efforts to improve." She paused, frowning as she looked at him. Unlike her, Thrawn wasn't winded at all, no sign of effort or exertion on him at all. "Were you even trying?" she asked, the slightest hint of offense in her voice, and Thrawn bowed his head.

"I always give my best effort," Thrawn said quietly. "And your victory here was not a physical one, but a tactical one. The path you chose played to your strengths and allowed you to climb faster than I."

"Hm. You'd beat me were we to race again, then?" Ziara asked coyly, and Thrawn shrugged.

"Perhaps. There were certainly better vectors I could have chosen that I saw when I was climbing." He gestured out toward the break in the leaves, a large opening in the foliage that served as a window to the park beneath them. "We came up here for a purpose. Shall I show you the artistry of this place?"

"Please do," Ziara said, and when his hand was offered to her, Ziara gently placed her hand in his grasp, and together crept out on the thick branch, out from beneath the canopy were they could see the whole park spread out beneath them.

Giving her eyes a moment to adjust to the light and holding on tight to Thrawn for balance, Ziara looked out across the park, slowly sweeping her gaze across the multicolored gardens that dotted the lawns and the pathways that ran throughout the park, the large mosaic main paths and the smaller offshoots, many of them passing right through the gardens while others ended at them. All path, however, eventually led to the tree they stood high up in, the rounded pathway outside the guard wall, the beautiful center of the park lined with hedges of beautiful iridescent leaves and white flowers so pale they seemed to glow and ice blue plants so delicate it seemed as thought the slightest touch would shatter them like thin ice.

Ziara looked up at Thrawn and felt her breath catch in her throat, the man not looking out at the park like she expected, but at her, a patient, quietly excited anticipation in the glow of his eyes. He was waiting for her to see what he did, but she didn't see it. It was beautiful, certainly, but if there was any artistry here, it was lost to her. But he was _waiting_ , so expectant and so certain that she would see it, and Ziara could feel resolve and determination tightly grasp her.

She looked back out to the park and carefully took in every detail she could. Thrawn was waiting, and she wouldn't disappoint him.

The straight path the garden they had run from sat upon, the more intricate, winding path that ran perpendicular to it, the weave of smaller off-shoots, the multicolored gardens dotted along them...

Ziara hissed in a sharp breath, spat a quiet curse, and beside her, she could hear Thrawn softly chuckle at her sudden realization. She felt like a fool for not seeing it sooner than she did. After all, she had seen it a thousand times before.

"It's the Ascendancy," Ziara said quietly, her grasp tightening on Thrawn's arm as she pointed out to the garden they had run from, a splotch of reds and oranges far below them. "Avidich, as you said." Her finger traced the pathway, a fairly straight line to the western entrance of the park and a large splotch of purples and bright greens. "Which would make that Kinoss." She pivoted around, using her grasp on Thrawn for balance as she pointed to the long, winding main pathway, the intricate mosaic tiles glimmering in a rainbow of colors. "And _that's_ the Path of Houses." A small, teasing smile touched her lips as she lightly nudged Thrawn, pointing to a small garden situated very close to the tree on which they stood, a pallet of muted yellows and pale greens at the corner of a much smaller path branching off from the resplendent walkway. "And that's where you're from," she said. "Rentor."

"Indeed..." Thrawn quietly responded. "Not so impressive as the monument dedicated to the place of your birth."

"Of course it isn't," Ziara said as she patted Thrawn's arm and looked down at the pale blue branch beneath her feet and the sea of indigo leaves of the canopy below. Csilla was the shining heart of the Ascendancy, and so the tree that represented the Chiss homeworld was of course the largest, most impressive planetary representation in the entire park, the magnificent centerpiece to which all paths ran to.

Silence enveloped them as they looked down at the terrestrial Ascendancy spread out beneath them, a warm, comfortable thing that settled upon Ziara's shoulders like sunshine, and with a contented sigh, she sat herself down on the branch, tugging upon Thrawn's hand in a silent demand for him to do the same. He quickly complied, lowering himself to sit right beside her, and leaning her head against his shoulder, Ziara took a deep breath and looked out across the artwork of the park, a faint smile on her lips as she felt Thrawn's deep, even breathing, and this close to him, she was certain she could hear the slow, strong beat of his heart.

"Thank you for bringing me here, Ziara," Thrawn whispered. "This has been a breathtaking experience."

"I suppose you see all sorts of things I don't," Ziara muttered, and Thrawn shrugged.

"Nothing you do not already know." He gestured out to the park, a broad thing that didn't point to one specific thing, but the piece as a whole. "The values of the Chiss are written here. Our dedication to the Ascendancy, the values of each of our worlds written in the flora that represents them, the designs of the pathways and the particular pattern and lay of the mosaic show the weave of our social and political structure." He shrugged. "Things all Chiss are brought up knowing."

"All values?" Ziara asked as she lifted her head off Thrawn's shoulder, her eyes narrowed as she looked at him. It was the opening she had needed, and if she didn't take it now, she didn't think she ever would. She would certainly never be presented with so fine an opportunity again.

"The values of the collective, yes," Thrawn said quietly. "Perhaps once, long ago, the values of the individual who landscaped the project could be seen, but it has likely been thousands of years since then, if the size of this tree is any indication. Nature has long since taken over, as was likely the intent." Again, he shrugged. "Individual values, of course, can be seen in the work as a whole, though the personal preferences of an individual would have to be discerned by other means."

"I suppose that's true," Ziara said, readjusting herself on the branch to face Thrawn. "I'll ask you directly, then. What qualities do you wish to have in a match?"

She thought he was going to fall out of the tree.

"...e-excuse me?" Thrawn asked in a small, profoundly unconfident voice, his eyes wide and his complexion paling significantly, easily the most uncomfortable she had ever seen the boy. The intention had been to catch him off guard, and she had certainly done that, but her tactical advantage would have been for nothing if her opponent had a heart attack or a stroke due to the shock of it.

"You are _Mitth_ , Thrawn," Ziara said with a roll of her eyes, the hint of disdain in her voice to cover up the eager anticipation she could feel pounding in her chest. "One day, they're going to match you, and you'll do your duty to the Ascendancy to produce exceptional children. But what do you want your match to be like? What is it you are hoping for?"

"I...am hoping for a successful military career..." Thrawn quietly hedged, awkwardly running his hand through his hair. "That is why the Mitth adopted me..."

"That won't be your only duty to the Mitth," Ziara pressed. "Everyone knows you're career will be remarkable. The Mitth will want to attempt to secure similar brilliance for future generations. You _will_ be matched, Thrawn. What do you want her to be like?"

"My career is not a certainty," Thrawn said firmly, his eyes hardening as he looked at his equally intense friend. "You know that as well as anyone. I will put my skills to use in service of the Ascendancy, but I will be met with opposition. My conclusions are not always drawn from visible lines of logic." His eyes flicked downward for a moment, his lips pressing together as he stared at the contrast between his royal blue hand upon the pale bark, and with an almost weary sigh, his eyes met Ziara's again, the softness there making her heart skip another beat. "They will not all be able to see what I do. They cannot all be you."

 _Not compliments_ , Ziara quietly had to remind herself. _Only observations, plain and simple facts_. It was all she could do to keep herself from taking Thrawn's face between her hands and kissing the cold logic out of his mind.

"You're trying to avoid the question by changing the subject," Ziara said coyly, giving Thrawn a small, playful shove on his shoulder. "That may work with others, Thrawn, but it won't work on me."

Again, he was silent, pulling his gaze away from her and looking back out over the park, and she followed his gaze to the garden that would have been Naporar, the leaves of purple trees providing a sharp contrast to the rows of silver flowers that seemed to glow like crystal when the sunlight hit them. "I will obey the will of the family," Thrawn said quietly. "Should they provide me with a match, I will accept the one they provide me with as the course that is best for the family."

"And what about what's best for you?" Ziara asked, and Thrawn looked back to her, a look in his eye that seemed almost wounded.

"The military is best for me," Thrawn muttered distantly. "A match never figured into that. I...have never given it any consideration."

"Never?" Ziara asked, feeling her heart sinking and doing her best to keep the disappointment off her face. She knew it was a possibility Thrawn was disinterested. Genius always came with a price, and the longer she knew him, the more convinced she became that the price Thrawn had to pay was in his ability to connect with others. But she hadn't really been prepared to hear it. "Not even once?"

"No..." Thrawn said in a soft, sad voice. "It never...I cannot..." He fell silent, an intense focus in his eyes as he stared at his hands, and Ziara got the impression that whatever emotions were bouncing around in that brilliant head of his, he couldn't understand or identify them. She couldn't help but wonder if poor, socially outcast Thrawn even believed he was capable of these feelings. "What is it you wish for?" Thrawn asked, still distinctly uncomfortable, but he was making a valiant effort to regain his composure. "This is currently relevant to you, is it not? You have certainly given the matter some thought." Ziara knew he was just stalling, but given the new opening she was just given, it was an opening she couldn't pass up.

"As a matter of fact, I have," Ziara drawled slowly, inching closer to Thrawn in a way that any _normal_ boy would consider flirtatious, but Thrawn didn't seem to notice. Glancing down quickly, she reminded herself that the _normal_ couples were sitting beneath trees, not sitting up in them. " _My_ match," she said confidently, proudly as she sat up taller, "is a merit adoptive, a trial born, or a ranking distant. A man so exceptional that the Ruling Families took notice of him and brought him in, not some blood relative that did nothing to earn his status." She paused, studied Thrawn's face, and only saw him staring back at her expectantly.

"He would have to be brilliant," Ziara continued. "Ambitious and accomplished without being an ass about it. And, since my future lies with the military..." she drawled as she scooted closer to him, allowing her fingertips to brush against his on the branch of the tree. "I want him to be military as well, with a promising career. Someone who understands the loneliness of command." She shrugged. "Maybe it wouldn't be so lonely if I had someone beside me who walks that same road."

"Ziara..." Thrawn said softly after a moment of silence, and she leaned in closer toward him. The boy was unspeakably dense on these matters, but finally, _finally_ , he understood. Ziara's heart began to pound so hard it felt as though it was humming, her face absolutely burning with heat, and she could see the increase in her own body temperature on her hand, but she couldn't bring herself to care. "I am confident you will find someone that fits your criteria."

"Oh yeah?" she muttered absently.

"Yes," Thrawn swiftly replied. "There are hundreds of cadets at Taharim that conform to at least eighty percent of your required criteria. If you would like, I can name perhaps twelve cadets right now who meet your requirements." Ziara said nothing, only stared at him, her eyes wide and her jaw slack, and Thrawn felt the slightest touch of satisfaction in his chest as he drew up taller. She was surprised that he could be useful in this matter, and Thrawn took her silence as an invitation to continue. "Dasklo'makre'ysa is a cadet in my class who is particularly exceptional at configuring weapon arrays. Clarr'ust'omniko is, I believe, in his third year, and I have seen him preform-"

He didn't have the opportunity to finish his thought as Irizi'ar'alani pitched backwards, and with a swift hiss, Thrawn grabbed hold of her ankles, leaving the girl to dangle beneath the branch she had previously been sitting on, her knees clasped so tightly to the branch that even if Thrawn hadn't caught her, she wouldn't have fallen.

"Ziara?" Thrawn tentatively asked, leaning over to look down at his dangling friend, and found her eyes peeking up at him from over her chest. "Are you quite alright?"

"Oh, absolutely, Thrawn," Ziara said flatly. "I've never been better." The branch above her shifted, Thrawn's hands left her legs, and a moment later, Thrawn swung down, his legs hooked to the branch as he dangled beside her.

"I am pleased to hear it," Thrawn said calmly, his face as impassive as ever, as if he weren't hanging upside down a perilously long distance from the ground.

"You know," Ziara said quietly. "The Ascendancy looks quite remarkable upside down. I bet nobody has ever seen it quite like this."

"Any confused child with a map has experienced a similar view," Thrawn said, and Ziara punched him in the arm hard enough to make both of them begin to swing. "The Ascendancy disallows preemptive attacks, Ziara."

"It's not preemptive if the attack was _instigated_!" Ziara huffed, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at the smirking man for a moment before she turned her sights back to the park, now hanging in the sky above them. The conversation about matches had, it seemed, been forgotten, and for the moment, it was just as well. The day was far from done, and she would certainly return to the matter on a new attack vector, but for now, this was enough. "You know, from this vantage point, the Path of Houses looks like the celestial aurora on Csilla. When the conditions are right, the night sky catches fire with a hundred colors and burns until dawn."

"I have heard of it," Thrawn said wistfully. "It sounds exceptionally beautiful."

"It is," Ziara said swiftly. "One day, Thrawn, I'll take you to Csilla and show you."

"...I would like that."

Silence fell over them once again, and with it, a sense of peace washed over them, the two friends hanging upside down high in the branches of an ancient, protected tree that stood in for the frozen heart of Csilla, the entire Ascendancy spread out before them.

"...I'll race you to the bottom," Ziara said, and Thrawn shot her a quick, examining glance, the edge of his lip curled up into the slightest smirk.

"You bested me on the way up," he said quietly. "You will not best me on the way down. It would be unwise to put your currently perfect record at risk."

"A gamble I'm willing to take to see you beaten again," Ziara scoffed. "On three?" Thrawn nodded, his chest slowly expanding with a long, deep breath, and as Ziara finished the countdown, she screamed a loud, vulgar curse when Thrawn let go of the branch and plummeted into the sea of the tree's canopy.

She truly, deeply hated that man.


	4. The Heart of Csilla: Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, welcome to the existential hell of being one of my readers. In today's episode of "Kurenaino is a Dumpster Fire" we see how the dear author can't keep from writing increasingly long chapters. Today's chapter is 6500 words of foreplay and alien fucking. And that's less than half the length of the damn thing. I'm sorry, and you're welcome.

"Don't get too excited," Ziara quietly warned Thrawn as they walked down the corridor of the dormitory to her quarters. "They're old, and most of them aren't very good. I just found them laying about my room back at the homestead and thought you'd be interested in seeing them." She reeled on him quickly, a scowl on her face as she pointed an accusing finger at him that, to her chagrin, trembled slightly despite her furious attempts to keep her hand steady. "There isn't any insight to be gained here, Thrawn. Understand?"

"Nothing that I have not already observed in your current works, you mean?" Thrawn asked calmly, and he shrugged when the intense glare she fixed upon him didn't so much as waver. "We shall see."

"Perhaps, Ziara..." she mockingly sneered as they reached her door and she began punching in the code to open it, a task made difficult by how badly her hands were shaking. There was no reason to be nervous, she had no plans to try anything more physical with Thrawn _yet_ , but just having him back in her quarters was dragging every single one of her thoughts right through the gutter of all the things she wanted to do to him. "We shall see, Ziara...has anyone ever told you how unbearably frustrating you are?"

"Approximately once every quarter hour," Thrawn muttered as she watched Ziara punch in her code, her finger double tapping one of the keys and she hissed a curse beneath her breath when she was denied access, the second curse much louder when she entered the code incorrectly for a second time. Reaching up a hand, he carefully placed it over Ziara's, the girl's entire body tensing as he did so, and slowly moving the frozen girl's hand out of the way, he entered the code for her, the door quickly and smoothly sliding open.

" _Only_ once ever quarter hour?" Ziara asked as she glared at the man, and Thrawn gave an indifferent shrug.

"It is an average," he said flatly. "A great deal of my time is spent alone." He stuck his hand in the doorway to hold the door open as it began to slide closed, and gestured for her to enter, and huffing softly as heat rose to her cheeks, Ziara stomped into her room, Thrawn following closely behind her, the door softly closing as they entered. Beside her, Ziara could hear Thrawn's sharp intake of breath, the man freezing to the spot as his eyes swiftly darted over the wire sculptures that sat atop every cabinet, desk and shelf, many of them smaller works that could fit in the palm of her hand, others significantly larger, big enough to need both hands to lift.

She had told him she brought back a few pieces she had made during her childhood, but she failed to mention that she had brought all of the sculptures she had ever made, nearly three dozen wire statues of the animals and mythological creatures that had captured her younger self's interest. Now, her art had similarly captured Thrawn's interest, the glow of his eyes bright and intense as he slowly eyed each piece, assessing and analyzing everything from subject to coil patterns to a hundred other things Ziara knew she could neither see nor understand.

She watched him intently, as closely as Thrawn observed her work, waiting to see how long it would take him to notice her newest piece, the horned quadruped that she had crafted over the sabbatical specifically to throw him off.

It didn't take long at all.

"Is something wrong?" Ziara asked when Thrawn's eyes narrowed, his previously wandering gaze still and focused upon the spot where the quadruped sat nestled in among sculpts of predatory birds. For a moment, Thrawn didn't move or acknowledge her, only stared at the sculpture, so still it almost seemed as though he had stepped out of himself, and with a sharp intake of air, as if he had suddenly remembered how to breathe, he turned to face Ziara, his hand gesturing toward the shelf the sculptures sat upon.

"May I?" he asked softly, calmly, though Ziara felt the quiet thrill of smug satisfaction run through her at the subtle tight intensity in his voice. She had him, as she had intended.

"Of course," she said, unable to keep the wry smile off her lips. "I brought them for you."

His eyes cast down toward the ground, a small, shy smile on his lips before he stepped forward to the shelf and carefully picked up one of the sculptures, not the quadruped that Ziara had expected, but a much smaller one nestled beside it, a misshapen mess of wire that only vaguely resembled the songbirds that lived upon the grounds of the Irizi homestead. He turned it over in his hands, the look on his face one of admiration, and Ziara suddenly felt very foolish standing there with an art enthusiast and surrounded by works that a literal child had made. In hindsight, perhaps, she should have only put her best pieces on display for him. It would have been easier to see how different her most recent work had been from the rest of them. Now, she felt as though it was simply lost among twisted wire and scrap metal, more garbage than art.

"T-that one isn't very good," Ziara said quickly as she plucked the little sculpt out of Thrawn's hands, wincing at the slight, uneven stutter in her voice and hating how weak it made her sound. "I have better works, things more worthy of your time."

"Really?" Thrawn asked as he looked at her, and for a moment, Ziara thought he may be mocking her until he very gently took the little songbird from her grasp. "All your works are worthy of my time."

"If you're trying to flatter me, Thrawn, I-"

"I am not," Thrawn firmly interrupted. "All art has value to me. This one especially." He held out the little sculpture to her. "Your first work."

"...is it?" Ziara asked, looking around the room and frowning as her eyes roved over each of the small, poorly made clumps of wire she had fashioned as a child, a mess of foggy, insignificant memories that blended together into a vague image of her early childhood. "I can't remember."

"It is," Thrawn said confidently. "I understood you when you brought me here the first time to see your more recent works, but now, you have laid out your entire history before me. Your life in your artwork."

"If you can even make sense of this mess..." Ziara grumbled, and the breath caught in her throat when Thrawn laid a hand upon her shoulder, his eyes slowly sweeping over the multitude of sculptures, a faint smile on his face.

"I can," he said almost too softly to hear. "I see it all. Each time your life took a turn you were not expecting, every time things went exactly according to plan. Every triumph and every defeat. Art reflects life," he said as he slowly made his way to the dresser and delicately touched the intricate horns upon the head of her most recent creation. "This is yours."

"I don't understand your art thing, Thrawn," Ziara said flatly, watching as the man carefully examined the other work she had created over the years. "I can accept that you can read tactics and strategy in artwork, but there's no way you can possibly see the details of a single life as you claim."

"No?" Thrawn asked, turning his head to face her, a thoughtful, confused look in his eyes that made Ziara feel as though she had accused him of lying. "This is hardly a unique ability. A multitude of scholars have studied the works of countless artists and from their works have been able to track and deduce the creator's mental state throughout their life."

"They often have recorded histories to backfill their conclusions," Ziara pointed out. "That isn't deduction, that's just the ability to read and comprehend a textbook."

"Perhaps..." Thrawn said thoughtfully. "But a textbook can only instruct on the events of a person's life. It does not allow you to know a person, or a people, as art does."

"Their tactics and strategy," Ziara said pointedly. " _Not_ the soul of a person. Not their victories and defeats, as you claim."

For a moment, Thrawn was silent, his fingertips pressing together as his eyes slowly raked over the sculptures, quietly contemplating the coils and shapes of the wires, and with a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes, ran his fingers through his hair, and turned to face practical, skeptical Ziara.

"To believe that," Thrawn said slowly, "you must accept that the events that shape a person's life are entirely separated from their tactics and strategy."

" _Well_..."

"Tactics are formed in a person's soul, shaped by their culture and experience and displayed in their truest form through their artwork," Thrawn softly continued. "You accept I know your tactics?"

"Yes..." Ziara said, frowning as she looked at him and tried to see where he was going with this."

"Knowing your tactics, and now, seeing your complete artistic works, I therefore know your soul, and the life that helped shape it." He gestured to the sculptures, entirely oblivious to how hot Ziara's face was burning. "I can prove it. Give me ten minutes, and I can order your artwork, from your earliest experiment to your most recent creation."

"Impossible," Ziara scoffed with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I did some of these when I was very young. I couldn't possibly remember the order I made, and therefore cannot correct you if you're wrong."

"It is your art, Ziara," Thrawn said quietly. "Your life. You will know."

She hissed between her teeth, but gave Thrawn a permissive gesture, and smiling softly at her, Thrawn set to work, gingerly picking up the sculptures and placing them on her bed, one by one until the shelves and tops of her cabinets and dressers were clear. He studied them on the bed for a moment, his fingers lightly stroking his chin as he considered each piece, and he grabbed two of the smaller works and quickly placed them upon the shelving beside the door before he went back for two more. It was faster than Ziara expected, his movements swift and certain, without hesitation for thought or consideration, as if it were obvious where each piece fit, like a puzzle he had done a thousand times over.

By the time Thrawn had finished, each sculpture placed in a neat, orderly line upon the shelves, only three minutes had passed. But it was also incorrect, Ziara thought with a sense of satisfaction as she looked at the lineup and found her most recent quadruped right in the middle of the line, instead of at the end where it belonged.

"You said it would take ten minutes," Ziara scoffed. "That wasn't even five."

But Thrawn only responded by holding up his hand, either a call for silence, or a demand for her to wait, though knowing him, it was likely both. It was also considered extremely rude. Certainly not his intention, Ziara knew, but she couldn't help but wonder how many people Thrawn had unknowingly offended by doing so.

Ziara watched as he carefully considered each piece in the whole, checking the time line for inconsistencies and errors, and finally, he reached out, carefully picking up one sculpt and shifting others to make space for the one he had previously misplaced, then taking another and another. As she watched him work, her gaze lingering on the sculpts he was moving, memories came to her in swift bursts, things long forgotten suddenly dragged to the surface of her mind. The small hatchling songbird she had made after she had climbed a tree to see the nest up close, only to tumble and fall from the high branches and break her arm. The ground-lion she had crafted after her father had first taken her to the Syndicure and she got her first look at then Supreme Admiral Ren'solei, the striking white of his crisp, clean uniform inspiring her own desire to serve the Defense Fleet. The nightdragon she had created when she had been accepted to Taharim...

Thrawn had been right, she realized as she watched him pick up the quadruped and study it with narrowed, critical eyes, her own gaze drifting once again to sweep over the line of her collected works. Each of these was a memory, a landmark, something significant that marked her path through life. As Thrawn shifted the sculptures slightly to make room at the very end for her most recent creation, now placed in its proper place, she looked at the line, and even though she couldn't remember even making the earliest ones, the line of her own memories clouded and fuzzy with the passage of time, she instinctively knew it was correct.

"Your art, Ziara," Thrawn said quietly as he glanced at the chrono, and back at her with a faint smile as he gestured at the line of sculptures. "Ten minutes, as promised."

"You sure it's right?" Ziara asked with a coy smile on her lips, and Thrawn turned his eyes back to the sculptures, his gaze quickly sweeping over them before he curtly nodded.

"I am certain," Thrawn said confidently, gesturing to the smaller sculpts at the beginning of the line. "Your early works were experimental as your preferred style developed, your proficiency with the medium improving with each work until this one," he said, running his finger on the shelf before one of the early works, the first of her predatory birds crafted with its four wings spread wide, as if in flight. "The first of your works to display the four coil pattern you favor."

"I thought you said I favor four _and_ three coil patterns," Ziara challenged, and Thrawn inclined his head.

"You do," he quietly agreed. "Though the three coil pattern is considerably more intricate, and you did not adopt that preference until much later," he said as he gestured down the line. "Not until after you were accepted into Taharim."

"Oh, and you know that, do you?" Ziara scoffed, though the laughter quickly died in her throat when she saw the earnest seriousness in Thrawn's face.

"I do..." he said quietly. "The lessons at the Academy refined you, as it refined your art." He walked down the line, quietly considering all the works laid out before him, and stopped before the first of several nightdragons, his fingers lightly brushing the counter top. "This..." he said quietly. "One of your most inspired works. Your technique is certain and precise in a way your previous works lack, likely because this piece was created at a turning point in your life." He paused, looked up the line to her more recent works, and then back to the nightdragon before him. "There is a strong likelihood that this was created either when you decided upon a military career, or when you were accepted into Taharim." He paused again, this time looking down toward her earlier works, his eyes narrowing in thought. "No..." he said slowly. "Not when you decided your path. This was done upon your acceptance to Taharim."

"It's _really_ creepy how you do that, Thrawn..." Ziara muttered, and he looked back at her, a shy smile on his face that made her heart skip a beat.

"The rest," Thrawn continued, "is shaped by your instruction at the academy. Your developing combat preferences gave rise to the adoption of the three coil pattern and narrowed the focus of your preferred subjects."

"Except for the most recent one," Ziara smugly pointed out, though her self-satisfaction and her hope to steer Thrawn back to her deliberately misleading work fell on deaf ears, the man only giving a small, dismissive hum as he took a few more steps down the line, stopping once again before another nightdragon, this one reared back on powerful hind legs, its wings spread and its jaws wide.

"Another inspired work..." he muttered under his breath, frowning for a moment before he turned back to look at her. "Under what circumstances did you create this piece?"

"What, don't you know?" Ziara asked, a teasing lit to her voice that she instantly regretted when Thrawn looked down at his feet, his body heat rising as he bit his lower lip.

"I am not omnipotent, Ziara," Thrawn whispered. "Only observant. I know this was made after a great success, though what that could be..." He shook his head. "I can only guess."

"It was after I was placed on the command track," Ziara said after a brief moment of hesitation where she considered making the boy guess, though her affection for the awkward, uncomfortable boy softened her in the end. Thrawn nodded, but said nothing, his gaze shifting back to the nightdragon, his fingers lightly, _carefully_ dragging over the wires that made the creatures clawed feet. With a sharp intake of breath, Thrawn drew up to his full height, swiftly withdrew his hands and folded them behind his back and faced Ziara, an intense, serious, and respectful expression on his face.

"You wished for me to display art in my quarters," Thrawn said quietly, a soft, nervous tremor in his voice. "I would be honored if you would allow me to display this piece." For a long moment, Ziara was silent, just staring slack-jawed at the boy and watching become more and more uncomfortable as he slowly began to shift his weight from foot to foot, and then broke eye contact to stare nervously at the floor. "M-my apologies..." Thrawn stuttered after the silence became too uncomfortable. "I did not wish to offend-"

"You want to keep _my_ work?" Ziara gasped incredulously. "Didn't you say you wanted art worthy of reverence? Something of significance?" She scoffed and gestured dismissively at the line of wire sculptures. "I'm no artist, Thrawn, this is a hobby, something I do to relax and kill extra time, if I have it. Any artist or art critic worth anything at all would think all of this as worthy only for the incinerator."

"...it is your best work," Thrawn said quietly, his gaze never raising to look at her, only keeping fixed firmly at his own feet. "This piece has significance and meaning to you. That alone makes it..." He paused, huffed out a frustrated breath, and fell silent, his shoulders slumping slightly and at a loss for words. "I would be honored if you would allow me to display this piece..." Thrawn repeated in a small, timid voice, and Ziara stepped closer to him, brushed her fingers down his arm, and swiftly withdrew her hand when the man flinched away from the contact.

"You can keep it, Thrawn," Ziara said in the most soothing voice she could muster, a thing she was frustrated to find was much harder than it would have been, the edge of command in her voice never _quite_ gone. Though Thrawn didn't look up at her, his head only lowering further, she could see the faintest smile touch his lips. " _If_ ," she said, more firmly than before, and this time, the man did glance up at her, her finger pointing down to the end of the line of her sculptures. "You study my newest work, and you use what you find there to spar with me." This time, a wide grin spread across her face when Thrawn looked back at the quadruped. "I've learned a few things, Thrawn, and I think I can finally beat you. I want to see how your tactics measure up against my new strategies."

For a moment, Thrawn quietly studied the sculpture, and when he looked back at her, the timid man who had stood before her only moments ago was gone, replaced now with the calm, confident warrior she had come to know so well.

"As you wish, Ziara," Thrawn said, a small smile touching his lips. "I am ready."

* * *

Thrawn had a strong preference for sparring with sticks. Given the opportunity to choose in the many times Ziara had sparred with him, he always chose stick. Combat sticks were his favorite, though on more than one occasion, he abandoned the dual sticks for a singular one, or abandoned the sticks entirely for a quarterstaff or the much longer lance. He was comfortable with a weapon in hand, claiming that improvement with weapons led to natural improvements in hand-to-hand, though Ziara always suspected that Thrawn preferred weapons because hand-to-hand was too easy for him, his tall stature and superior strength giving him advantages that led to slower improvements. Weapons evened the field against most of his opponents, which allowed him to learn faster.

Ziara got to choose how they sparred. She chose hand to hand.

"Are you ready to finally taste defeat, Thrawn?" Ziara teased as she pulled on the chest protector and finished wrapping her hands, her eyes never leaving Thrawn as he did the same. "Your superior size and strength won't help you today."

"It is not my size and strength that allows me to defeat you," Thrawn said quietly, a slight smile playing upon his lips as he looked at her. "You have several natural counters to a larger, stronger opponent that gives you multiple advantages. You have superior speed and agility, and should you get within my guard, there would be little I could do to fend off your attack."

"Uh huh," Ziara said flatly. "And when have I _ever_ gotten inside your guard?"

"You have not yet been successful in that," Thrawn said with a casual shrug. "But you could. Are you ready to begin?"

"Only if you're ready to lose!" Ziara snarled as she rushed in toward him, his foot barely inside the sparring ring before she was on him, the first hooked punch to his head almost effortlessly blocked, and with his attention up high, she quickly dropped down and swept at his legs, though she made no contact, the man having stepped away before her leg made it around. As she started to rise, just before she righted herself, Thrawn slid in, his foot planting on her chest and pushing her back, sending her sliding across the sparring ring. Hissing in frustration, she rolled, her hands planting on the ground as she swiftly jumped up to her feet, and to her immense frustration found Thrawn in the center of the ring, his hands defensively raised and prepared to hold his ground, as he always was when they sparred.

Taking a moment to breathe deeply as she circled her opponent, Ziara centered herself, chose her vector of attack, and rushed in, feinting to the left before ducking swiftly to the right and throwing a tight punch at Thrawn's core, followed swiftly by another one, both of which were easily blocked, and with his guard dropped, Ziara threw another punch at his head. Thrawn ducked beneath it, the miss disrupting Ziara's balance for a fraction of a second, but it was enough, and before she could do a thing about it, Thrawn hooked his foot behind her ankle and spun, pulling her legs out from under her and sending her falling hard to the ground.

Quickly leaping to her feet with a snarl of frustration, she moved in again, but this time was quickly sent retreating when Thrawn spun, his leg lashing out at her head, and Ziara only just managed to lean out of the way, his heel mere inched from her nose. Before Thrawn's foot was even back on the floor, Ziara was moving in, determined to regain the offensive she had lost, throwing two shots at his head before she faked low and threw another strike at his head. Predictably, Thrawn blocked them all, just as he had before. As he always had, since the first time they had sparred together.

With a frustrated hiss, Ziara broke away, tearing her head protector off.

"I don't get it!" Ziara snapped as she dropped the head protector to the ground. "I changed everything! The subject, how it was made! I even changed the coil patterns!"

"Of your art?"

"Of course of my art!" Ziara said, her voice edged with irritation. "My latest work is nothing like the others!"

"No, it is not," Thrawn quietly agreed, a thoughtful, faraway look in his eye. "I do not believe I am able to explain it, but your efforts to change have only reinforced your established technique."

"...but how," Ziara asked, and Thrawn simply shrugged.

"We are what we are, Ziara," Thrawn whispered, his gaze dropping to his feet as a small smile touched his lips. "Five pattern coils and dual helixes throughout the legs and body, but the more intricate horns once again adopted your three and four coil patterns. A deceptive maneuver, until the subject became overly involved, and you were forced to lean on your more comfortable, proven methods." He paused, glancing up at her for a moment before once again looking away. "The work was indeed different, but it felt just like you."

"Hm..." She snatched her head protector off the ground and threw it out of the ring, placing her hands on her hips as she looked Thrawn over, quietly chiding herself for forgetting why they were there. Usually she was there to hone her skills, and while that was certainly part of it, tonight, sparring with Thrawn was about getting to put her hands on him, and in that, she wasn't going to be defeated so easily. "Shall we go again?" she asked, and at that, Thrawn rose a single eyebrow.

"You are not properly outfitted with the required safety equipment," Thrawn quietly chided. "I should not need to tell you that the regulations are in place to prevent injury."

"Oh, and you've never broken the regulations before?" Ziara scoffed with a shrug, and grinned when Thrawn's skin flushed a deep, pleasing blue. "I'm raising the stakes, Thrawn. I do better under pressure."

Thrawn was silent, a contemplative frown on his face for a moment before he too removed his head protector and placed it neatly back on the rack, his hand ruffling his mused hair, and while the man slowly made his way back to the sparring ring, Ziara took a moment to really look at him. She could best him. She knew she could, and she knew how to do it, but achieving victory over Thrawn had nothing to do with winning the match. When it came to tactics and strategy, Thrawn couldn't be bested, but there were things Thrawn just couldn't seem to understand, as her day out with him had clearly shown.

And yet, he knew her as nobody else did, _saw_ her soul through her artwork. And still, he couldn't see how she felt for him, perhaps was incapable of actually believing that was even possible. Ziara had watched him closely that day, had seen how shy and uncomfortable he became when his own emotions were called into question, watched him swiftly retreat and redirect away from the subject like he was facing an enemy he hadn't yet figured out. And perhaps that was it. Perhaps he simply didn't have the words to say what he felt. Or, more likely, it seemed, perhaps he wasn't capable of even identifying what he was feeling. Genius always came at a high price, she had been told, and perhaps that had been the price Thrawn paid. A tactical and strategic mind like the Ascendancy had never seen in exchange for the ability to read his own heart.

By the time she stood before him in the sparring circle, Ziara's mental state had shifted entirely away from combat and to something a great deal more personal, a thing she knew that Thrawn would be unable to read.

This is where she would seize her victory, not just for herself, but for Thrawn as well.

There was a slight frown on Thrawn's face, the slightest crease in the ridges on his forehead as Ziara came in, the man defensive as he usually was, though it was different this time. She was certain Thrawn had noticed the shift, was now trying to analyze the new tactic, though Ziara knew he couldn't. This time, when she predictably attempted to slip beneath his guard, when she had grabbed his shirt and pressed her hip against his in an attempt to catch his leg and bring him to the ground, Thrawn reversed it, as he usually did, sliding his own leg back and taking hers out with it with the slightest shift in his weight. But Ziara's grasp on him was tight, and when she fell to the ground, she dragged Thrawn down with her, and with a swift twist, she managed to catch Thrawn between her legs instead of allowing him to trap her sideways beneath him, a position she knew she couldn't best him from.

Despite being on top of her, Thrawn's position was a bad one, her legs wrapped tightly around him and locked at the ankle behind his back restricting his movements, while Ziara could use his body to push against and shift her weight just slightly enough to both avoid his attempts to reverse his situation and to keep him off balance should he attempt to move. He shifted, one hand placed on the mat as he moved his other arm in close to him and dug his elbow into the muscle of her thigh, but before pain forced her to let go of him, Ziara quickly unclasped her legs, the sudden movement making Thrawn's weight shift forward as he nearly fell on top of her, and digging her knee against his hip, she used her other leg to sweep out Thrawn's knees that supported him, sending him tumbling sideways as Ziara rolled on top of him, her legs tightly hugging his hips as she mounted him.

A wicked grin crossed her lips as she looked down at the disheveled boy beneath her.

It was _almost_ perfect.

Thrawn reached up and grabbed behind Ziara's neck, his other hand resting on the back of her arm, and she could feel his weight shifting as he tucked his heels in close to him, pulling her closer to him as he prepared to throw her off. Instead of moving to counter what she knew Thrawn would do, Ziara slid her own hand behind Thrawn's neck, her other arm collapsing as she allowed him to pull her in close. Before he had the chance to buck her off, she slid fingers into his hair, leaned her forehead against his, and gently pressed her lips against his.

Beneath her, she felt Thrawn's body tense and go still, the fight that had been in him vanishing before the sudden plunge into what he couldn't expect. The only way Ziara knew how to beat Thrawn. She had won. _Finally_.

When Ziara broke away a moment later with a contented sigh, she looked down at Thrawn and found his eyes wide, his skin beautifully flushed, his hands clawed into the mats as if it were the only thing keeping him fixed to the ground and his breath held like he had forgotten how to breathe. Placing her hand upon his chest, she could feel his heart pounding against her palm, even through the chest protector he wore, a stark, frankly startling contrast to how calm and controlled she felt, and Ziara couldn't help but wonder how it was that whenever one of them was anxious or nervous, the other was at perfect ease.

"You know, Thrawn..." Ziara drawled as she laid over Thrawn's chest and threaded her fingers through his hair. "You're the smartest person I will ever meet, and it is _unbelievable_ how you can't see what's right in front of you."

"Ziara..." Thrawn said in a soft, breathless whisper, so timid and so sweet that Ziara couldn't stomach the thought of the boy opening his mouth and ruining the moment as he was so skilled at doing, so she kissed him again, her fingers lightly tracing the strained, trembling muscles in his neck.

"Somehow, Thrawn," Ziara said as she pulled away from him, "I have grown to be _quite_ fond of you..."

"F-friends..." Thrawn stammered, and Ziara laid her finger over his lips to quiet him.

"More than friends," she said smoothly as she slowly unclipped the clasps on Thrawn's chest protector, and his chest began to rapidly rise and fall, as if the protective gear had been on so tight it kept him from breathing. "I realized it when I was back at home. Your name didn't come to me just because I knew it would scandalize my family, Thrawn," Ziara whispered, swiftly unclipping her own chest protector, pulling it over her head, and carelessly discarding it over her shoulder. "I care for you, Mitth'raw'nuru. I was wondering if you might care for me too."

For a long while, Thrawn was silent, the color on his face deepening as he once again forgot how to breathe, Ziara keenly aware of the way his body trembled beneath her. He didn't look away from her this time, the glow of his eyes brighter than usual as he searched her face for something, _anything_ he could understand, though the confusion she saw written on his face told her that he didn't find what he was looking for. Finally, he looked away from her, turning his head as he bit down on his lower lip, and for just a fleeting moment, Ziara thought she saw shame in his eyes.

"I-I do not know..." Thrawn finally stammered. "I have never...h-how would I even know it if I did?"

"You just feel it," Ziara said as gently as she was able, her hand gently stroking over his chest and delighting in the feel of his fluttering heart. "Right here."

"I only just realized we were friends," Thrawn said, swallowing hard before he finally looked back up at her. "You had to tell me we were. If I could not see it on my own..." He took in a long, shivering breath, and he quickly looked away from her once again. "How am I supposed to know something like this if I cannot feel it?"

"You can feel it, Thrawn," Ziara said as she stroked his cheek and turned his face to look back at her. "You might not know it, but I do. Nobody who loves art as you do feels nothing."

"Tactics and strategy..." Thrawn muttered beneath his breath. "An asset for use in the art of war."

"But that isn't all," Ziara said firmly. "You see beauty there too, you see the soul of the being that crafted it, and not just for tactics. You wouldn't want an art collection if that's all it was. You wouldn't want _my_ art if a warrior was all you were."

"That is what the Ascendancy needs of me."

"And that must come first," Ziara quietly agreed. "You will be a great warrior, Thrawn, and you will serve the Ascendancy well. You will give your life to the Defense Fleet, as I will give mine." She slid her hand beneath Thrawn's chest protector, felt the strong muscle tense beneath the thin athletic shirt. "The Ascendancy needs you to be a warrior. _I_ need you beside me, as a fellow warrior, as a friend, or something more. Something deeper."

Again, Thrawn fell silent, a far away look in his eye as he stared off to the side, his breathing beginning to slow, though his body didn't stop trembling, his muscles tensing in the wake of her fingers as they dragged across his chest. They sat in silence long enough that Ziara thought that she had broken him, that all the intelligent thought in his brilliant mind had come to a grinding halt, or that he was searching for a way to reject her advances. But that notion faded quickly. If Thrawn truly didn't want such a thing, he would have said so, in the most blunt way possible, as he always did. No, looking at him now, Ziara could only imagine that he truly didn't know, that he was struggling with being confronted with feelings he had never expected to have to deal with, or with emotions he felt that he had no idea how to interpret and codify. When he finally looked back at her, his expression meek and uncertain, she knew she had the right of it.

"I...care for you, Ziara," Thrawn whispered in a voice that wavered terribly with nerves. "You are the only friend I have ever had. I do not believe myself capable of expressing what that means to me."

"You don't have to. I already know." Surprise passed over Thrawn's face, and Ziara couldn't help but smile, cupping his face and running her thumb over his cheek. "You wouldn't have asked to keep my art otherwise." The surprised vanished, and Thrawn averted his gaze, a shy, grateful smile on his lips.

"You will understand, then, why I wish to remain friends." Thrawn looked up at Ziara, and felt himself shrink away when he didn't find the understanding there that he had hoped to see, though what precisely she was feeling, he couldn't quite place. Swallowing hard, he sat up, averted his eyes as Ziara awkwardly climbed off his lap and plunked down on the ground, and Thrawn pulled his knees into his chest, too anxious to even look at his friend.

"This is not my area of expertise, Ziara," Thrawn meekly explained. "I have no skill or experience. I...would not wish my ignorance to damage the friendship we currently share."

"...Thrawn," Ziara said in her strongest, most commanding voice. "Did you _truly_ believe I expected you to have any experience at all in having a relationship?" She scoffed, covering her face with her hands as she stifled the laughter that clearly irritated her uncomfortable friend.

"I am not a fool, Ziara," Thrawn said stiffly. "I have heard how females speak about the males they have sexual intercourse with. Inexperienced, poor lovers are spoken of with disdain." He pulled his legs in tighter to him. "As I said, I have no experience."

"I didn't develop feelings for you because I thought you did," Ziara said with a roll of her eyes as she rose to her feet, flashing Thrawn a cocky grin as he stood as well. "And I have more than enough experience for the both of us." She paused, her nose wrinkling as she frowned. "That didn't sound the way I thought it would..."

"...I understand that it is not difficult to gain experience in this subject," Thrawn quietly put in. "If it would please you, I could gain the necessary experience from an alternative source to-"

"No, _no_ , that _wouldn't_ please me!" Ziara quickly snapped glaring at Thrawn as he very awkwardly pulled off his chest protector and held it in his hands. "I don't want to even _think_ about some domineering bitch putting her hands on you!" Looking uncomfortable Thrawn over, Ziara found the sudden wave of jealous anger quickly subside, and with a sigh, she stepped closer to him, plucked his chest protector out of his hands, and tossed it over her shoulder to be forgotten on the mat. "Is that really your only concern, Thrawn?" she asked quietly, her fingers brushing over the back of Thrawn's hand. "You're worried about being an adequate lover?"

"...I do not know," Thrawn muttered quietly. "These are not desires I experience. There was never any reason for me to consider such an arrangement."

"...until now?" Ziara carefully ventured, her own heart skipping when Thrawn delicately took her hand in his.

"The opportunity never presented itself before," Thrawn grumbled. "My brother is affable and charismatic and well-liked by even members of rival families. I understand that in this, I am not at all like him."

"Maybe not," Ziara said with a shrug. "I don't much care. I'm fond of you regardless."

"Maybe so..." Thrawn said gravely, his jaw tightening as he looked down at the ground. "But that does not alter the fact that I am..." He swallowed hard, a deep, fresh pain straining his eyes that broke Ziara's heart to look at, her hand instinctively tightening around his. "I do not experience these desires," he said quietly. "I never have, and I likely never will." He paused, giving Ziara a small, sad smile before he averted his gaze. "I am broken, Ziara, and it is a character flaw that cannot be corrected."

For a long moment, Ziara just looked at him, his hand grasping hers so hard it hurt, a hundred things running through her mind, a thousand memories now making so much more sense, given the proper context, and it made her chest _ache_. Grabbing hold of Thrawn's wrist, she pried her hand out of his grasp, the man's arm flinching at the loss of contact and his hands quickly pulled away from her to clasp tightly behind his back. Slowly, _carefully_ , Ziara slipped her arms around her trembling friend, her hands pressed firmly against his back, and she laid her head on his chest, her eyes closing as she listened to the rapid flutter of his frantic, frightened heartbeat.

A moment later, she was pulled closer against him when Thrawn's arms clutched tightly around her.

"I don't think you're broken, Thrawn," Ziara muttered against his chest, smiling and holding him tighter when she heard the soft hitch in his breathing. "You're just you. I wouldn't have you any other way."

"No?" Thrawn asked, and though she wasn't looking at his face, Ziara could practically feel his eyebrow arch.

"No," Ziara said firmly. "I still have feelings for you. Maybe you don't feel the same, but if _this_ is what's holding you back..." She slipped out of his grasp, a smug smirk on her face as she dismissively waved her hand. "You're a little different. So what, we always knew that. It's what I like about you." Thrawn gave a small laugh, and Ziara could see a bit of the tension that knotted his shoulders fade. "If you want to try, Thrawn, we'll try. And if it doesn't work out..." She shrugged. "We can go back to the way we were."

"...friends?" Thrawn carefully asked, and Ziara nodded.

"Friends. You have my word."

Thrawn was silent for a moment, but only a moment, his posture straightening and his previous confidence returned. "Words do not exist to express your importance to me," Thrawn said firmly. "I would like to try."

"I'd like that..." Ziara said, feeling her face burn unbearably hot despite how calm she had felt before. "In the spirit of full disclosure, Thrawn, while you do not feel desire, _I_ do, and I very, very much desire you. We can discuss it another time, but if you ever want to-"

"I do," Thrawn swiftly interrupted, and Ziara nearly swallowed her tongue.

"...what?"

"As I said, the opportunity has never presented itself," Thrawn said with a shrug that was almost too casual. "I may not feel the need and desire for sexual intercourse, as others do, but that does not preclude me from being curious." He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he examined Ziara. "I am curious, as I am about all things I do not understand."

"And once I sate your curiosity?" Ziara asked. "Then what? You might not feel desire, but _I_ do. You're more than a conquest to me."

"You are more than a curiosity to me," Thrawn said, his head tilting slightly as he looked at her. "I was of the understanding that sexual intercourse was a standard practice in romantic relationship, and thus assumed your desire for intercourse was implied. Was I incorrect in my assumption?"

"No!" Ziara said quickly, frowning at how suddenly desperate she sounded and only now realizing how tight the knot in her gut had wound itself. "No," she said again. "I just thought...you know, since you aren't interested, maybe you'd need some time to consider-"

"I have already agreed to entering a relationship with you," Thrawn said quietly, and Ziara rolled her eyes and laughed softly to herself. _Of course_ it would be this way. Once Thrawn was committed to a course of action, his decisions were swift and decisive, without hesitation or delay. She had expected this to be different, a thing so very far removed from the field of war that he excelled at, though looking at hit now, she felt stupid for thinking so. Of course Thrawn's approach wouldn't be any different. Regardless of the situation, Thrawn was just Thrawn.

_We are what we are_...

"In that case, Thrawn..." Ziara drawled as she stepped closer to Thrawn, her fingertips running slowly down his side. "I've been thinking how you'd look beneath me for the better part of a week now, and while grappling with you now _was_ fun, there was a bit too much clothing for my taste." She drew closer, pressing her body up against his and grinning wickedly when that pleasing flush returned to Thrawn's face. "Come to bed with me," she said quietly, half a demand, half a request, and swallowing hard, Thrawn slowly nodded.

"Yes..."

Taking his hand in hers, Ziara pulled Thrawn out of the training hall, leaving their discarded gear upon the mat.

* * *

As they drew closer to Ziara's quarters, Thrawn's unshakable confidence began to falter, and by the time he stepped into her quarters and the door was closed and locked behind them, his nerves had gotten the better of him, making his hands shake and his breathing come in shallow, uneven gasps. He wanted this, not because he desired sex, but because he wished to be closer to Ziara, and Thrawn understood intercourse to be an important part of bonding between pairs. He was uncertain if he would feel it, if he would enjoy it, or if he may finally feel the desire to engage sexually once he had it, but it was a thing he wished to at least attempt, not for him, but for Ziara. He had no cause at all to be nervous. People had sex all the time.

He was nervous.

Thrawn thrust his hands in his pockets to hide how bad they were shaking from Ziara, willing his expression to remain neutral so that she didn't notice how nervous he was.

She noticed anyway.

"Thrawn..." Ziara said gently as she reached out and touched his shoulder, and despite willing himself not to, he twitched away from her, a hasty apology muttered under his breath. "Thrawn," she said more forcefully, grabbing his shoulder more firmly and turning him to face her. "You're nervous. It's alright if you want to wait. We don't have to do this."

"...I am not nervous," Thrawn said stiffly.

"You're nervous," Ziara insisted, a small, sympathetic smile on her lips as she reached up to stroke his cheek. This time, Thrawn didn't flinch away. "It's normal to be nervous the first time."

"It is absurd..." Thrawn grumbled, looking away from Ziara, and was quickly forced to look back at her with a gentle nudge on his cheek.

"It isn't," Ziara said firmly. "Especially since..." She paused, frowning for a moment as she carefully considered her words, and gave a frustrated sigh when she couldn't find the right ones. "It may be worse for you, given your...disinterest."

"...I do not know why I am nervous" Thrawn quietly conceded, his hands wringing uncomfortably before him. "It is an important biological function. Study of our reproductive systems is required curriculum in all biology and physiology classes, and I have taken several during the course of my education."

"There's much more involved in sex than just the mechanics, Thrawn," Ziara explained. "The textbooks are just scientific facts and diagrams, but sex isn't just the mechanics of a female mounting a male. It isn't just physically engaging, it's emotional as well."

"...I had not considered that."

"I think you did," Ziara said as she stepped closer to the man, her hand resting upon his hip. "I just don't think you know it." Thrawn looked away from her, the slightest flicker of shame or guilt upon his face, and again, Ziara stroked his cheek and gently turned his face back to meet her gaze. "Hey..." she said softly with a reassuring smile. "I'm nervous as well."

"Are you?" Thrawn asked skeptically. "You have experience, as you have said."

"Yes, but not like this." She tapped her finger on his chest. "This is unknown territory for me as well. I have never before been with a partner that hasn't sexually desired me." She had expected to see offense, or guilt, or a hundred other understated emotions upon Thrawn's face. Instead, she found no reaction at all, and immediately felt stupid for thinking otherwise. It wasn't an insult. It was a fact, and Thrawn took it as such. She tilted her head, a wry smile on her lips. "If you don't feel desire, Thrawn," she said slowly as her eyes roved down her body, and then back up to look him in the eye, "will it work?"

Thrawn could be unspeakably dense, but fortunately, this time, he quickly caught the meaning. "I have no reason to believe otherwise," he said quietly, a faint flush coloring his cheeks. "I am given to understand that females produce an enzyme in their salivary and sexual secretions that induces arousal in males. I had assumed my own physiology to be functional and that I would be receptive."

"Well, there's a little more to it than that," Ziara sighed. "The mind is more powerful than the body. Biology can only do so much, and I refuse to take advantage of an unwilling partner."

"I am not unwilling," Thrawn quickly retorted. I just..." He paused, his lips pressing together in thought as his brow creased, his eyes narrowing as he swiftly searched for an explanation, but he couldn't quite find what he was looking for. "My brother says you reputedly have excellent bone structure," he finally managed in a calm, even tone. "I am inclined to agree with this assessment."

"Oh, Thrawn..." Ziara drawled as she slid closer to the man, a wide grin spreading across her face when Thrawn began to squirm slightly as she pressed up against him. "Did you just call me beautiful?"

"Your physical features are mathematically proportionate and symmetrical," Thrawn said evenly, despite the bright flush upon his face and the was his heart began to race beneath Ziara's fingertips. "This has been scientifically proven to be appealing."

"You are _very_ sweet..." Ziara said slowly as she caressed Thrawn's neck, her fingers pressing against the tightly corded muscle and feeling his pulse jump yet again as his body heat rapidly rose. "I suppose there's only one way to find out if you're receptive, hm?"

"Y-yes..."

"Thrawn," Ziara said sternly as she grabbed his chin, the previous tenderness in her voice gone. "We can stop at any time, understand? No matter how far along we have come, if you don't wish to go further, we won't."

"I understand," Thrawn said quietly, and a sly grin spread across Ziara's face as she hooked a hand behind his neck.

"Do you trust me?" she whispered, and she watched as Thrawn held his breath, his throat contracting as he swallowed hard, and with a soft, shuddering breath, he nodded. "Excellent..." Ziara muttered as she leaned up and firmly pressed her lips against his, her fingers swiftly working to undo the buttons on his shirt. The kiss was hard and demanding, much more than their previous ones, and Thrawn quickly yielded to her, his mouth opening to allow her tongue to dart between his lips. She pulled back quickly, however, when she found that Thrawn's own tongue had retreated and was pressed firmly at the back of his throat.

"Thrawn," Ziara said firmly, and the man slowly peeked through tightly closed eyes, his chest rapidly expanding as he gasped for breath. "What are you doing."

"I...am..." He frowned, looking the woman over, his head tilting slightly as he studied her expression and body stance. "I am...allowing you to do as you wish?"

"Kissing, dear," she carefully explained, "is a participatory activity."

"You inserted your tongue into my mouth," Thrawn quietly explained. "I did not wish to get in your way."

"Thrawn, that's, uh-"

"I believed it would be easier for you to deliver the induction enzymes without the need to overcome opposition," Thrawn said flatly.

"No, Thrawn, that isn't the point..." Ziara sighed as she pinched the bridge of her nose. "The point is to get closer to your partner. Entwine as many things as possible, understand? It's hard to do that in a _vacuum_ , Thrawn." She gave a swift, dismissive gesture of her hand. "Your tongue isn't an obstruction, it's the point. The enzymes get delivered regardless."

"...they do not cover this in biology textbooks..." Thrawn grumbled, and chuckling softly, Ziara placed her hand on his chest, gently pushed him backwards until the back of his knees came in contact with the bed, and with a startled gasp, he fell backwards. He quickly scrambled to sit up, his hands braced behind him, and before he could move, Ziara straddled his hips, her hands threading through his hair as she looked down at the wide-eyed boy.

"This might make it easier for you..." she muttered as she leaned down to press her lips against his neck. "Relax, Thrawn. I'll teach you..."

Ziara slowly laid lingering kisses to Thrawn's throat, his neck, the sharp line of his strong jaw until she finally captured his lips again while her fingers swiftly and deliberately finished undoing the buttons of his shirt and pushed the offending garment over his shoulders. Parting for a moment to look down at the flushed, slightly disheveled man, she slipped a hand beneath the waist of his pants, a steading hand on his shoulder urging him to keep still when he jumped at the brush of her fingers at the crest of his hip when she hooked the bottom hem of his athletic undershirt. In one fluid motion, she pulled the garment up over his head, and with a silent, insistent push upon one of the arms that supported him, Thrawn laid back on the bed, allowing Ziara to pull both shirt and undershirt away from his body and toss them carelessly over her shoulder.

Thrawn's eyes darted to look behind her at his discarded clothing, and before he managed to give voice to the objection Ziara knew he would have to not properly folding or hanging the garments, she covered his mouth with hers, her tongue swiftly darting past his parted lips and running over his. Predictably, she felt the body beneath her grow stiff, his chest swell with held breath, but to his credit, this time his tongue didn't move to block his airway. True, he did not participate, only laid absolutely still and allowed her to do as she wished, but there would be time later to teach him the finer points of kissing. For now, it was enough to feel the smooth, hard planes of his chest beneath her hands as she kissed him, deep and insistent, a thrill running through her as she felt him begin to squirm as his pulse quickened.

"Ziara..." Thrawn gasped when she finally pulled away from him and sat up on his hips, and he quickly propped himself up with his forearms. "Ziara, I-"

"Are you starting to feel it?" Ziara asked quietly as she swiftly pulled her own shirt up over her head and tossed it onto the floor behind them, and she ran her fingers between the grooves of Thrawn's ribs as he breathlessly nodded. "How are you feeling?"

"Hot," Thrawn muttered, closing his eyes and taking a few slow breaths in an attempt to calm the fluttering in his chest, though he quickly realized it would do no good. "A little dizzy."

"I meant emotionally, but I suppose that'll do," Ziara said, her hands dragging down his chest to feel at the tight, defined muscles of his abdomen. "Do you wish to continue?"

"Yes," Thrawn said quietly, biting his lip for a moment and looking away from her for a second before he looked back up, a determined frown on his face. "Should I remove the remainder of my clothing? I understand that it may impede the process of-"

"In good time, Thrawn," Ziara chided as she pulled her athletic support over her head and sat topless upon Thrawn's hips. "I'm not in any rush. Are you?"

"Is it not our purpose here to have intercourse?" Thrawn asked with a frown, and with a roll of her eyes, Ziara laid on top of him, her fingers casually bringing disorder to his usually immaculately kept hair.

"Our purpose is to grow closer," she quietly explained between light kisses she placed upon the red freckles scattered upon his shoulders. "Bonding between a pair happens not just during sex, but in the time leading up to it. Unless..." she said in a light, teasing tone as a single finger traced down between them and lightly ran over the tightly closed slit beneath Thrawn's navel, earning a sharp gasp from the man as he began to squirm. "Is it _your_ purpose here just to have intercourse, Thrawn?"

"N-no!" Thrawn said in a tight, stuttering voice. "I am...nervous. I thought it might be alleviated if we..." He hissed a breath between his teeth. "There is always anticipation in waiting for a battle to begin."

"Only if the preparations have already been completed," Ziara said with a soft chuckle. "There is still work to be done, we have not yet moved the fleet into proper formation." Ziara had to roll her eyes at herself, but immediately, she felt Thrawn relax beneath her, a great deal of his nerves abating as some of his anxieties were translated for him into a more familiar format. "But if you'd like to, you can remove your shoes and move higher up on the bed. You won't be as comfortable with your legs dangling over the edge like that."

Thrawn quickly did as commanded and kicked his shoes off, and when Ziara lifted herself off him to do the same, he slid up the bed, his head resting among the pillows and his fingers drumming nervously upon his own stomach as he waited for Ziara to return. When she did, she was entirely nude, and Thrawn once again felt the nerves return as he carefully studied her, took note of flecks of purple markings across her sides, the indented, pale blue skin of scars that marked old injuries, the lines of muscle in her arms and stomach and the curve of small breasts upon her chest. She was exactly how he anticipated, from all the time they had spent sparring together, though now, in the new context of observing her, he quietly decided that her apparent athleticism was as appealing as it was ideal for a Chiss warrior.

He flinched when gentle fingers dragged down his stomach, his muscles almost seeming to curl in on themselves in an effort to shy away from her touch, a firm hand grabbing his chin to hold him still as her lips once again covered his own. He kept his eyes tightly closed, the soft lips moving against his as a hand once again settled at the waist of his pants, this time to deftly undo the button and pull the zipper down. Ziara broke away from him, her lips pressing firmly to his neck and chest as she gently stroked his hips for a moment before pulling his pants and undergarments down over his thighs, and as Thrawn once again began to squirm, she pulled them off completely, dropping them among the other clothing already scattered across the room.

Taking a moment to admire him, Ziara felt her blood warm and the already considerable knot of arousal in her gut tighten as she allowed her gaze to slowly rake over the strong, smooth body laid out before her, her fingers stroking Thrawn's hips and thighs for a moment before delicately stroking the divide of muscle just beneath his naval that hid his genital slit. She laid her palm flat upon the smooth skin, her thumb moving in slow circles in an effort to get Thrawn to relax enough to allow the slit to part, and though it was to no avail, she did feel the twisting of his cock just beneath the layer of muscle that protected it.

Placing her hands on his stomach, Ziara climbed on to the bed, her knees sinking into the mattress on either side of Thrawn as she mounted him, her own genital slit already slick and her six clasping tendrils twisting in anticipation, the tips of the two lowest ones peeking just outside the slit and flicking incessantly. With a sigh, she settled upon Thrawn's hips, a slight smirk on her lips when she watched the man jump at the contact and immediately begin to squirm, and she placed a steadying hand upon his shoulder as she so, so slowly began to roll her hips. She could feel Thrawn's muscles tighten beneath her, the man not even breathing as he stared up at her, the muscle in his throat trembling beneath strain and his rapid pulse.

"Doing alright, Thrawn?" Ziara asked quietly when Thrawn tightly shut his eyes, his hands fisting into the sheets as his entire body began to tremble even as the tension in his muscles slowly began to ease, the powerful aphrodisiac in her own secretions that now slicked his skin already being absorbed and taking effect thanks to rapid Chiss metabolism.

"I...I-I do not know what to do..." Thrawn stammered, swallowing hard as his grip on the sheets tightened. "What should I be doing with my hands?"

"You don't need to do anything with them," Ziara said calmly as she grabbed his wrists and moved his hands to rest on her thighs. "But this is as good a place to start as any. As to what you should be doing..." she drawled as she inched back lower on his body, the entire length of his tightly hidden genital slit out from underneath her as she laid back against his bent legs. "Just relax and allow yourself to feel. You should be feeling the effects of the primary induction enzymes. Do you?"

"Y-yes..." Thrawn softly gasped, closing his eyes and shuddering as Ziara slowly dragged her finger down the coiled muscle that sealed off his genital slit, the touch sending a ripple of warmth between his hips that slowly began to unfurl the tightly wound muscle.

"Are you alright to continue?" Ziara asked, and Thrawn slowly nodded, a long, shaking breath falling from his lips as she continued to gently stroke at the muscle that slowly began to relax. "Then you're going to give me what I want," she said in a quiet, commanding tone, her finger resting upon the slit as the muscle parted to expose it, only for the lower abdominals to quickly close around her finger in an attempt to conceal it again, though the presence of her finger prevented it from doing so. "Thrawn," she said sternly, enough that the man swiftly opened his eyes to focus on her, the red glow far brighter and more intense with the arousal that swept through his blood. "Don't fight it. Give yourself to me."

With a nearly silent sigh, Thrawn's eyes fluttered closed and his body sunk into the mattress as he relaxed, the tension in his muscles fading at Ziara's command, leaving him submissive and pliant beneath her. To her satisfaction, her finger was released, the raised muscle quivering slightly as she slowly stroked his now exposed genital slit, her palm pressed to the smooth skin and moving in slow, wide circles as she coaxed the wriggling organ beneath. The slit yielded and opened to her touch, and Thrawn shivered as his slippery reproductive organ slid into her waiting grasp.

It was shy, Ziara decided, his cock only exposed up to the first of three ridges that extended along the topside of the organ that her own clasping tendrils would hook behind to keep him held inside her, the pointed, tapered head twitching erratically as it flexed away from her hand. Ziara chuckled softly as she gave the slippery, self-lubricating cock a few slow, experimental strokes in an effort to coax more than the exposed five inches to slide out, her eyes fixed on Thrawn's face and delighting in the sight of the boy's breath become shallow and ragged as he silently came undone. He was obviously nervous, more than he had previously let on, as with the other men she had mounted, their cocks would flex in toward the warmth of her hand, not away from it as Thrawn's did, though she put that up to a matter of him being untouched and unused to contact more than anything else.

Ziara's grasp widened as the second ridge on his cock brushed against her fingers, her slow stroking prompting the organ to slide further out of it's protective sheath inside Thrawn's body, and as she gently stroked the underside of the wiggling cock, she felt the third ridge brush up against her fingers. With a few more long, slow strokes, her finger hooked behind the third ridge to pull the rest of the organ out of hiding, and Ziara leaned back against Thrawn's trembling legs to admire her work, the long, thick organ pulsing and slowly undulating upon his defined abdominals.

It was bigger than what was standard, as Ziara had expected. Thrawn was already tall, and a bigger man meant larger proportions. The Chiss average put most men at twelve to thirteen inches in length, and given Thrawn's size, his own cock likely sat at around fifteen, though it was difficult to tell from the way the dark blue and royal purple organ was wriggling. She reached out and stroked it, and it immediately renewed its squirming away from her, the cock shrinking back and beginning to retreat back into the protected confines of the internal genital pouch, but her fingers hooking behind the ridge kept it from doing so, and slowly pulled it back out, which drew a long, low whimper out of shaking Thrawn as his fingers dug into her thighs.

"Thrawn," Ziara said quietly, her hand laying over his and gently rubbing it when he tensed beneath her. "Are you doing alright?" He opened his eyes slowly, the red glow bright and vibrant, and she watched his throat work, the muscles tightening as he gasped for a moment before he gave up, his head falling back among the pillows as he absently nodded. "Do you want to continue?" Again, no words, just a dazed, silent nod, and Ziara reached over him to stroke his cheek and her heart skipped when, instead of flinching away as he had done before, he leaned into her touch with a soft sigh. He was deep under the influence of the aphrodisiac, that much was evident by the bright glow of his eyes, his unfocused gaze, how pliant he had become beneath her, and for a moment, she thought she should stop, give the man a chance to regroup so he might be able to answer without his fuzzy mind compelling him toward obedience.

"Are you uncomfortable?" she asked quietly, her hand once again pressing against his cock, and he shut his eyes, shivered beneath her, began to nod and swiftly stopped, his body once again growing still as he looked up at her, his eyes searching her face for a moment before he slowly shook his head. Ziara smiled to herself. Cognizant enough for consent, she noted as she returned to gently stroking the slick cock, the squirming becoming more languid as it grew accustomed to touch, and it slowly began undulating into her grasp as it sought out her hand for continued contact. A skilled lover possessed a modicum of control over the semi-involuntary muscle that composed the reproductive organ, but Thrawn clearly had none, the erratic twitching and unfocused, instinctual movements indicative of strictly involuntary motion.

There would be time to teach him later.

Ziara exhaled, her breath hot and shuddering as she felt her gut twisting, her own winding reproductive tract shifting as the thousands of villi tendrils that lined her internal walls began rhythmically swaying in waves, her own system reacting to the enzymes in Thrawn's secretions, not so potent as the effects that females had on the males, but enough to make her already considerable want unbearable. Rising up on her knees and taking Thrawn's cock into her hand, the pointed tip flexing back toward her, she flashed him a small smile.

"You're ready," she quietly muttered, rubbing her thumb along the tip and watching the slow, deliberate undulating of the rest of the length, the small slits beneath the ridges opening slightly to secrete more lubricating fluid. "Do you trust me?" A small, soundless gasp slipped past Thrawn's lips as he swallowed, his tongue darting out for a second to lick his lips, and with a shuddering sigh, he nodded, his hands slowly rising up Ziara's thighs to rest lightly on her hips. Carefully, she maneuvered the tip inside her and held just beneath the first ridge as her lower clasping tendrils hooked beneath the head, and jolted into action, the rest of his cock began almost frantically wriggled deeper inside her, her tendrils aiding the process as they pulled him in.

"Good boy..." Ziara said with a sigh as she settled down on him, her fingers lightly stroking his sides and feeling his muscles work as he sunk deeper inside her, her gaze never moving from his face as she watched his eyelids flutter as he bit down on his lip, near silent moans exhaled with nearly every breath. She leaned over him, her breasts pressed against his chest and her fingers running through his hair as she kissed at his neck, allowing his wriggling cock to push deeper and twist inside her unaided and uninhibited by her clasping tendrils, the entire organ pressing erratically against the sea of villi that bent to stroke whichever part of him they were able to reach.

She slowly rolled her hips, the movement urging Thrawn's cock to wriggle deeper in an effort to completely conceal itself, and Ziara gasped when she felt it bend and turn deeper through her own winding tract, breathing a cascade of pleasured moans as she pressed back against him and laid long, slow kisses along his chest. She allowed the uncontrolled thrashing to continue only for a moment more, her eyes fixed on Thrawn's face as his breathing became labored, and running her hands down his sides and grasping him tightly, she shut her eyes, unfurled the clasping tendrils she had pressed tightly against her own walls to allow Thrawn's cock to move without restriction. She gently willed them to wrap around him, the six tendrils running up and down the length for a moment and dragging a shiver out of Thrawn before they gently wrapped around him, each pair hooking behind one of the ridges and locking him in place, the shaft able to undulate, but unable to withdraw, leaving only the tip free to thrash and squirm.

Thrawn's eyes flew open, his throat tight and the haze immediately cleared from his mind, all his nerves returning in their full intensity as he found himself trapped, and with a whimper, he scrambled to sit up, his back pressing hard against the headboard, though the tight grasp Ziara's legs had upon his hips moved her with him instead of dislodging her, the woman sitting calm upon his lap as a firm hand pressed against his shoulder.

"Thrawn," Ziara said, her voice calm and even, a stark contrast to the ragging, panicked breathing of the man beneath her. "It's alright. You're alright."

"I-I'm stuck..." Thrawn whimpered, and Ziara slid a steady hand into his hair.

"Yes..." Ziara whispered, quickly kissing the frantic man. "You don't have to be. I can let you go, if you truly wish it." Thrawn swiftly opened his mouth to answer, and Ziara quickly kissed him once again, deeper than before, and didn't part until the rapid, uneven contractions of his chest slowed as he was forced to hold his breath. "But this way is more pleasurable for you..." she said with a slow roll of her hips, the steadying hand upon Thrawn's shoulder just insistent and commanding enough to ground him through the panic that still clung to the edge of his mind. "It's more pleasurable for me..." she continued, her hands slowly beginning to stroke his shoulders, the slow, smooth movement easing some of the tension that gripped him. "And it's much, _much_ more intimate."

For a long moment, Thrawn was silent, his gaze locked with Ziara's, his eyes sharp and intense with his heightened anxiety, the slow petting along his shoulder slowly smoothing out the bunched muscle, her calm, commanding presence giving him something to hold tightly to. He recognized that what he felt was irrational, an emotional response he didn't understand to something new and far outside his experience, and the presence of cold, logical Ziara gave him something to cling to, something to chase the heated panic away from his mind. He tried to slow his breathing, but failed to do so, and though he could feel his reproductive organ hooked within the tight heat of the woman that had mounted him, the frantic thrashing slowed to a smooth, even undulation with the clasping tendrils to guide him. She had been right. Her firm control over him felt better than his previous unguided efforts.

"I-is it?" Thrawn stammered quietly, and he closed his eyes, a shuddering breath slipping past his lips when Ziara traced her fingers over the ridges on his forehead.

"Mm. It's different, being locked so closely together with another." She grasped his chin firmly between her fingers, forced him to look up into brightly glowing, devious red eyes, and a breathless moan slipped past Thrawn's lips. "And personally..." she whispered as she leaned over and nipped at the shell of his ear. "I'd rather keep you exactly where I want you..."

"...y-yes..."

"Trust me, Thrawn..." Ziara said as she held his gaze and ran her thumbs over his high cheekbones. Have I ever led you astray?"

"Never..." Thrawn gasped, a shudder running through him as he willed himself to surrender to the woman's touch, a faint, genuine smile on his flushed face. "I trust you, Ziara..."

"Then relax, Thrawn..." she drawled, an arm wrapping around Thrawn's shoulders as she gently pressed his head against the crook of her neck, a soft moan in her throat as Thrawn's hands ran up her back and pressed firmly against her shoulder blades as he grasped her tightly to him. "Let me take care of you..."

With Thrawn held tight and secure in her grasp and his breath hot and heavy against her neck, Ziara slowly began rolling her hips, the tendrils wrapped around the long, thick cock inside her gently squeezing and dragging along its length. Each movement dragged a faint, gasping breath out of Thrawn, his shaking hands digging gently against the muscles in her back, his previously thrashing cock becoming sluggish and languid as it gently undulated inside her, a much more pleasant sensation than the previous rough, uncontrolled twisting. More importantly, though, it was a sign that Thrawn was finally relaxed, his trust for her allowing him to be comfortably submissive to her, and for Ziara, that was the most important thing.

Kissing his temple as she grasped him tighter, Ziara closed her eyes and finally allowed herself to get lost in the feel of him, the powerful body she was pressed against, the satisfying stretch around the thick organ, the incredible fullness of having the full length of him so deep inside her, the electric thrill of the tendrils that grasped the slowly pulsating cock. Already, she could feel the satisfying, burning cold deep inside her as the tip of his cock began thrashing once again, the pulsating coming in faster intervals, the shaking breath on her neck becoming quicker as the shaking gasps melted into barely audible moans as his climax approached.

Allowing herself to freely moan, Ziara held him tighter, her tendrils tightening around him as she urged him closer to orgasm, and Thrawn swiftly obeyed, his face pressing firmly against her neck and shaking as he climaxed inside her. Ziara stroked his hair, whispering soft, moaned praise and encouragement into his ear as she felt the blissful hot cold numbing sting spread through her, her head starting to swim and her thoughts becoming thick and sluggish as she too fell under the effects of the biological aphrodisiac.

Reveling in the feel of the sexual high that pulsed through her blood as she slid effortlessly into her own orgasm, Ziara pet at the shaking muscles in Thrawn's back, stroked his hair, kissed the red freckles upon his shoulder as she urged him onwards. The male orgasm was a prolonged affair, on average lasting several minutes, and for sensitive, inexperienced Thrawn, she had half expected him to panic midway through. To her surprise, he didn't, only held on to her tighter as he shuddered, his shaking breath and silent moans occasionally broken by soft, almost musical gasps, his usual flat inflection shattered by a continuous onslaught of physical pleasure.

Thrawn's shaking slowly faded as the crest of orgasm subsided after what felt like a small eternity, his slack muscles occasionally twitching with jolts of residual pleasure as the tendrils wrapped around his cock slowly squeezed out every last bit of cum out of him. He leaned his head against Ziara's shoulder, refreshingly cold in comparison to his flushed face, and focusing entirely on the feel of her against him, the way her long fingers dragged through his hair, her very presence the one thing that felt comforting and familiar and safe in the roiling sea of new experiences and feelings that surrounded him and beat maddeningly in his chest. The analysis and assessment that constantly ran through his mind had become fuzzy and unfocused, every thought and every attempt to rationalize the things he felt fading before he could catch hold of them. He clung tighter to Ziara, content to remain thoughtless in the safety of her embrace when a single, stray thought made itself clear in the indecipherable haze of emotion that flooded his entire being. Ziara had been right. He had never felt so close to another being as he did in that moment.

The muscles in his abdomen instinctively contracted, an effort to retract his penis back into his body, but was met with resistance, felt a slight tug, but nothing more. He attempted again, met a more forceful resistance this time, and he frowned slightly, his thoughts thick and hazy and confused, unable to comprehend what was happening through the languid arousal that still pumped through his veins. He attempted a third time, whimpered softly as he once again found himself stuck, and looked up at Ziara, a dazed, almost helpless look in his eyes as he stared at the sharp, predatory gaze of the woman in his lap, a hard hand resting on his shoulder to still him as he began to squirm.

"Not yet..." Ziara growled in a low, commanding voice, a slight tightening of her abdominal muscles making her clasping tendrils pull taut around the cock deep inside her, a wicked grin spreading across her face at the small, startled gasp from the man beneath her, his eyes bright and hazy and fully under the influence of her aphrodisiac, as she was under his. "I'm not done with you yet..."

She faced no resistance, no objection, only a quiet sigh as Thrawn nodded, placed his face against the crook of her neck, and once again held on to her. Taking just a moment to readjust herself, rising up slightly on her knees and bracing herself upon his shoulders, she began to ride him in earnest, gasps and moans and feverish praises tumbling from her lips and reveling in the way Thrawn's fingers kneaded into her back and the way his ragged, silent breath against her neck sent shivers up her spine.

She dragged another orgasm out of Thrawn, and another after that, her own swiftly following as she watched the sweet, helpless man come undone in her grasp, a subtle, near silent thing that a less observant lover might not notice, or a less caring lover might not appreciate or might entirely disregard. But not her. There was nothing fake about Thrawn, nothing done for show, nothing exaggerated in order to please her. Only overwhelmed silence as he desperately clung to her, as if she was the only thing keeping him grounded in the moment, the only thing he trusted and understood in a situation he never predicted he would be placed in. That meant far more than any of the more skilled, far more vocal lovers she had taken in the past.

Her third orgasm of the night subsided, the clawing need finally sated into warm, languid satisfaction, and as she came down from the high, she felt the uneven vibrations of faint vocalizations whimpered against her neck. Running her hands through Thrawn's sweat-slicked hair, she relaxed her pelvic muscles, her clasping tendrils releasing his cock, and when it didn't move from where it was longed deep inside her, she reached down and rubbed small circles just beside the crest of his hip bone, the muscle quivering for a moment before they began working. Thrawn clasped her tighter, his forehead pressed hard against her shoulder as his cock was retracted back into him, the slide slow at first, but becoming rapidly faster as the sore, distended slit was given room to close.

Hooking her fingers beneath his chin and placing a slow kiss to his lips, Ziara slid off the lax man and got off the bed, her fingers running through her hair as she strode purposefully toward the closet, considering for a moment to clean up first, but quickly disregarded the thought. Sex between Chiss was a messy affair, an excess of lubricant and fluids produced by both parties leaving just about everything a wet, slippery mess, and cleaning herself now, only to return to sheets damp with cool, minty lubrication would have been utterly pointless. More than that, it would have been in bad taste to leave poor, vulnerable Thrawn when he had so completely submitted himself to her.

Snatching a spare blanket from the closet, she returned to the bed, grabbed hold of Thrawn's ankle, and pulled the boy off the headboard where he had been left slouched, his head falling deep into the mess of pillows, his breathing still heavy from the exertion of several prolonged orgasms. Throwing the blanket over him, Ziara slid in next to him, gave the dazed man a small smile, and laid her head upon his chest, her body draped over his strong torso and her legs intertwining with his.

"Ziara..." Thrawn muttered after a few long, quiet moments, and Ziara nestled against him and slipped an arm around his waist, her eyes closing as she listened to his strong, even heartbeat.

"Mm?"

"Academy regulations clearly state that cohabitation is forbidden."

There was a muffled smack as her hand hit his chest, and with a frustrated huff, Ziara indignantly snuggled against Thrawn and demanded he shut up and stop ruining the moment.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Warmth of Csilla](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27470251) by [ASiriusAuthor (KkGgINoU)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KkGgINoU/pseuds/ASiriusAuthor)




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